A COLLECTION OF 86 Loyal Poems, All of them written upon the Two late PLOTS, VIZ, The Horrid Salamanca PLOT in 1678. AND THE Present Fanatical Conspiracy in 1683: To which is added, Advice to the CARVER, Written on the Death of the late L. Stafford WITH Several Poems on their Majesty's Coronation, Never before Published.  
Collected by N. T.  
Printed by N. T. at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross, 1685.   

THE PREFACE TO THE READER▪  
READER,  
I Here present Thee with the LOYAL POEMS that have severally scattered in Print, and ventured most of them to Peep into the World, even in the Highest of Dangers and worst of Times; when the very Pestilential Air of Poisoned Senates, and Infected Kingdoms raged highest, and Threatened Fatallest; being a whole Collection of all that durst look abroad since the first Apparition of all the Popish Hobgoblins, either contained in, or raised by that unparallelled Piece of Discovery the Salamanca Narrative: That Masterpiece of Hocus Pocus, where the Dextrous Operator Titus so much outwent every little Brother of the 'Slight of Hand, the Puny Jugglers of the Age; that whereas Their feebler Art can only swallow Knives or Daggers, This greater Hictius Doctius, could Gorge or Disgorge Fire-Balls and Black-Bills; nay, Squadrons and Armies, either above or below Ground; and though with no less than three Kingdoms for their Spectators, scarce one English Eyesight quick enough, or one Head-piece deep enough to detect the Legerdomain. But that Egyptian sort of Darkness being a little over, and our English Pericranes having either new Brains put in, or our Old ones new washed, or some thing like it, Thanks to the ●are and Conduct of our Royal Exorcists, two of the Best and Wisest of Kings, who are at present dispossessed of those Popish Demons and Spectres, that so All-to-be▪ Deviled us, whilst the Fanatical Incantations that raised them, are both Detected and Baffled▪  
I confess indeed, that the greatest part of these Poems have been of my Own Printing and Publication; and truly some of them at no little Charge; That particular Poem, called, A Dialogue betwixt the Devil and the Ignoramus Doctor, etc. Having Cost me little less than Forty Pounds. For the Worthy Robin Hog, the Engineer of the Faction, and the Assistant Swearing-Master to the Great Beuk-blawer Titus; partly in Vindication of the Whig Dagon, the Popish Plot, was Generously pleased to Outlaw me in the Crown-Office for Printing that Dialogue: Together with another as Mortal a Crime, in my Weekly Intelligence, Number 60. viz. For publishing the Guild-hall Rioters; Two Sins (let me tell you) enough, either of them alone, to pull down his Severest Vengeance▪ For in the first place, the Reputation of the Doughty Author of Invisible Commissions, Screwed Guns, and Silver Bullets, was so nice a point, and so tender a Concern to so Violent a Plot. Zealot as Robin, that nothing less than utter Destruction was deserved from him by so Insolent a Transgressor as myself, for Daring so much as to Doubt the Gigantic Veracities of his Adored Gamaliel Titus▪  
And then for that second, as Heinous a Gild of mine; my Exposing the Guild-hall Rioters (Oh, Monstrum Horrendum!) my Daring to touch the Whig Honour and Innocence of those Schismatical Confronters of Authority; that under the Umbrage of Bethelite Sheriffs, and Barnardiston Juries, were lobouring so hard in the old Road of Religion and Liberty, as to be almost got up to the old Perch again of mounting Rebels upon Thrones and Monarches upon Scaffolds. My Affronting those Dear and Darling Repulican Boutefeus' in Vindicating the Honour of the Matchless Sir John Moor, that most Indefatigable of Patriots, and Best of Magistrates, whose Ever-memorable Resolution, Loyalty and Success alone, almost turned the whole Balance; and I may (without Flattery) say Effectively Secured even Monarchy itself▪ All this I say was so Over-damnable an Offence to the Constitution and Kidneys of little Robin, that 'tis not to be wondered, if it raised his Fiercest and most Implacable Dudgeon against me.  
But, alas, those two  Unpardonable Faults alone have not suffered his Severest Rebuke, but likewise my Publication of the Hue and Cry after Titus' Oats when turned from Whitehall. The Poor Prisoners Lamentation for the loss of Sheriff Bethel: Let Oliver now be forgotten; With Oates' Manifesto, or a Dialogue between Titus Oats and the Dr. of Salamanca, have all felt the the same Lash, and provoked the same Mortal Indignation from him: For, alas, the least Attempt, or Venture of Unmasking, or Exposing of Imposture, Fanaticism and Villainy; or the least Defence of the Government, Monarchy or Succession, was so Capital a Crime to the Offended Robin, that he was ever presently upon my Back upon the least Transgression of that too Criminal kind; and never left me, till with many a Zealous Puff and Blow he was sure to Light the Coals, and Burn my Fingers for't.  
These, gentlemans, have been my Faults, and this Prosecutor my Scourge for them. And truly to give him his du●, and show you truly the Considerable Figure he has made in the World; considering the many Misfortunes that have attended the Garagantua Affidavit Hero TITUS; and how the Popish Kings-Bench Cloister Immured that quondam St. Omerian True Protestant, and Silenced that never to be forgotten Oracle; whilst Pox, Gibbets, Goals and Beggary, and other such like Accidental Mundane Calamities have scattered and discomfited the Dugdales, Tubervils, Macnemara's, Commine's, and the rest of the Evidential Forces; Considering, I say, all this Universal Defeat and Mortality, our single Robin was resolved to Supply them all; and as the Terrible Goliath Champion of the whole Party, stepped forth with his Forehead of Brass, and the rest of his Armour of Impudence, and with an open▪ mouthed Defiance, bellows Death and Damnation to every man that durst Love either Truth, Honour or Honesty. And to show you that he wanted neither Courage nor Conduct for such an Undertaking, he has sufficiently manifested by his long and daily Achievements, his great Abilities in both kinds, when dreading neither Evangelists on one Hand, nor Devil on the other, he began to Swear through Brick-walls no less than two years before the Doctor Swore through so much as one Keyhole.  
And truly not to be Idle in any Thriving Vocation in the days of Yore, he played Sir William waller's Jackall, and with a full Cry of Popery and Idolatry, bunted down Gold-Chains and Apostle Spoons with him, for Beads and Crucifixes, and Old Jacobusses for Peter-pences; and so played at Pick-pocketing and Burglaring, under the cloak of True Protestant Justiceing with him, as well as the Worshipful Sanctified Land-Pyrate himself▪ By such, and many other Feats of Activity, having well lined his Pockets, and thereby not a little puffed up his Pride, he had through long Use and Practice so far surmounted the Silly Punctillio●s of Justice and Conscience, (as a thing so much below him) that he boggled at nothing, though never so Villainous, to gratify either his Interest or Revenge. And really take all those of my Profession together through the whole Town, no man has felt half the weight of his Heavy Swearing Hand as myself have done. For though Malice and Rapine gave him his daily Bread, he has made it his restless and indefatigable study more particularly to ruin me, than all mankind beside. Nay, not content with Prosecuting me for the above named Dialogue, and the rest of those Honest and Loyal Pamphlets, He endeavoured to Blast my Reputation as much as he had done my Fortunes, and that two by an imputation as Ridiculous as Impudent, for he Maliciously offer▪ d to Swear that I had Printed more Whig-Pamphlets than any other Person in Town, so egregious a piece of Forgery, that nothing but a Countenance as steeled as his own, could ever have invented.  
Readers, I now beg your Pardon for Troubling you with nothing but Complaints and Crievances; an unrelishing Subject for a Preface, had not my long load of Sufferings extorted them from me, and made them thus public for the Vindication of my Loyalty, a part where no Man is wounded, without some Exclamation at the smart.  
But that he hath not done this without the hopes of Reward, is a plain Case; for an Eminent Ignoramus-Jury-man (lately Apprehended) publicly presented him with 6● l. 13 s. 4 d. in the space of a few Months; besides divers private Gifts from the Party for his great Service done them.  
However, I should not have dwelled so long upon so Inconsiderable a Varlet as this, had it not been to show how Capricious some men's Fortunes are, that even so inconsiderable a Varlet, should give so great a stroke towards any man's Ruin. But Shame and Scorn have at last over-taken him: For he is turned out of his Employment with Disgrace, and Despised by all Mankind, which in a great measure hath eased the Pain of  
Your Humble Servant, NAT. THOMPSON.   

A Table of all the several Loyal Poems contained in this Book.  

THe Waking Vision, or Reality in a Fancy. Page. 1  
The Deliquium; or the Grievance of the Nation discovered in a Dream. 7  
Sejanus, or the Popular Favourite in his Solitude and Sufferings. 15  
A Canto upon the Miraculous cure of the King's Evil, performed by the late D. of M. 21  
Tom Ross's Ghost to his Pupil: he Duke of M. etc. 24  
The Oxford Alderman's Speech to the D. of M. at his entrance into that City ●●out September, 1680. 25  
The Ghost of the late Parliament at Westminster, to the Parliament to meet at Oxford, 1681. 27  
The Parliament Dissolved at Oxford, March the 28 1681 29  
A Panegyric upon OATS, 34  
An Epithilamium upon the Marriage of Captain William Bedloe. 38  
Funeral Tears upon the Death of Captain William Bedloe, who died at Bristol 43  
Anagram and Acrostic upon the Salamanca Dr. 44  
The Convert Scot, and Apostate English. 45  
A Postscript upon the Duke of York's return from Scotland. 55  
The Mad man's Hospital, or a present Remedy to cure the Presbyterian Itch, 57  
Tony's Soliloquies, etc. 60  
The Badger in the Fox trap, or satire upon satire. 62  
The humble Wishes of a Loyal Subject. 78  
The Politicians Down-●a●l, or Potapsky's Arrival at the Netherlands, and the Congratulation of the Protestant Joiner at their meeting. 80  
A Congratulation of the Protestant Joiner to Anthony K. of Poland, upon his Arrival into the other World. 87  
The King of Poland's Gh●st, or a Dialogue betwixt Pluto and Ca●on upon his Reception. 92  
The Country Man's Complaint and Advice to the King. 96  
Advice to the Carver, Written upon the Murder of the late William Lord Viscount Stafford, 97  
Shaftsbury's Farewell, ●r the new Association. 113  
Dagon's Fall, or Sir Will. Waller turned out of Commission. 117  
A Dialogue between the Devil and the Ignoramus Dr. 120  
Tyburn's Courteous Invitation to Titus Oats: 123  
The Reformation, a satire. 125  
Advice to his late graceless Grace the D. of M. 128  
The Solicitous Citizen▪ or much ado about nothing. 130  
The Charter, a Comical satire. 134  
A Character of London Village. 156  
True Loyalty in its Colours, or a Survey of the Lavaable Address of the Young Men and Apprentices of the City of London, to His Majesty. 159  
Loyalty Triumphant, or a Poem on the numerous Loyal Addresses to His Majesty. 162  
The Club of Loyalists. 164  
The Dissenters truly described. 166  
The Loyal Litany, &c, 170  
The Fanatic Rampa●t, or a Poem on the an Election 174  
Poor Robin's Dream, or the Vision of Hell, or a Dialogue between the Ghost of Bedloe & Tonge. 176  
A Dialogue between the Devil and the 〈◊〉. 186  
A Congratulatory Poem on Sir John Moor Knt. Mayor of the City of London. 189  
The Car-man's Poem, or advice to a Nest of Scribblers. 191  
The last Will and Testament of Anth. K. of Poland. 196  
An Epitaph upon his Bowels. 199  
The Case is altered now, or the Conversion of Anthony K. of Poland, published for satisfaction of the Sanctify'd Brethren. 200  
The K. of Poland's last Speech to his Countrymen. 202  
Fitz-Harris's Farewell to the World, or a Traitor's just Reward. 206  
The last and truest Discovery of the Popish-Plot, Discovered by Rumsey, West, etc. 207  
Several Poems written by the Right Honourable Henry Lord Arundel of Warder, and Count of the Sacred Roman Empire, whilst Prisoner in the Tower, 212  
Majesty in misery, or an Implorati n to the King of Kings written by His Majesty King Charles the first, in his durance at Carisbrook-Castle, 1648. 218  
Interrogatories, or a Dialogue between Whig & Tory 221  
A Poem on the Relief of Vienna. 222  
An exact Narrative of the Popish-Plot, showing all the cunning contrivances thereof. 224  
The Second Part to the same. 228  
The third Part, written by a Lady of Quality. 233  
The fourth Part, written by a Lady of Quality. 237  
The great Despair of the London whigs for the loss of their Charter. 241  
A Panegyric to His Royal Highness James D. of York, upon His Majesty's late Declaration, etc. 243  
To His Ro●al Highness the Duke of York. 246  
A Congratulatory Poem upon the happy Arrival of His Royal Highness James D. of York, at London, April the 8th. 1682 249  
To His Royal Highness upon his Arrival from Flanders. 255  
To His Royal Highness the Duke of York upon his Return to the Care and Management of the Navy of England. 259  
A Welcome to His Royal Highness into the City of London April the 20th 1682. 261  
A Farewell to His Royal Highness the Duke of York on his Voyage to Scotland October 20th▪ 1680. 263  
The Dukes Welcome from Scotland to London. 264  
An Heroic Poem on her Highness the Lady Ann's Voyage into Scotland: With a little Digression upon the Times. 266  
Islington Waters. 270  
Serenissimis Principibus Eboracensibus, & Albaniensibus Ducibus, ter Maximis in Angliam Reducibus Congratulator. 276  
A Pindaric Ode, upon the late Horrid and Damnable Whiggish Plot. 280  
A Pindaric Ode, upon His Majestics Review of His Forces at Putney-Heath. 287  
The Melancholy Complaint of Doctor Titus Oates. 291  
An account of an Apparition that appeared to Titus Oats, 311  
A Paradox against Liberty, Written by the Lords, during their Imprisonment in the Tower. 314  
The last Speech of Sir Edmondbury Godfrey's Ghost. 322  
Advice to the Painter's Adviser. 323  
The Hypocritical Christian; or the Conventicle Citizen. 326  
On the King's most Happy and Miraculous Deliverance at Newmarket. 334  
A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Duchess of Ormond. 336  
Funeral Tears to the Sacred Memory of our late Sovereign King Charles the Second. 341  
Scotland's Loyalty; or, Sorrowful Sighs on the Death of our late Sovereign His Sacred Majesty. 344  
An Elegy on the Deplorable and never enough to be Lamented Charles II. 347  
To his Sacred Majesty King James II. 349  
Ireland's Tears, A Pindaric Poem upon the Death of▪ our late Sovereign Charles the II. and the Peaceful and Happy Succession and Inauguration of our present Great Monarch King James the II. 351  
An Heroic Poem most humbly Dedicated to the Sacred Majesty of Katherine Queen Dowager. 362  
The Description of the Coronation. 369  
A Poem on the Coronation. 388    

BOOKS Printed by Nath. Thompson at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-Garden near Charing-Cross.  
A Choice Collection of 180 Loyal Songs, with the Musical Notes Composed by the best Masters of that Art; All of them written unce the two late PLOTS, viz. The Horrid Salamanca Plot in 1678. and the Fanatical Conspiracy in 1683. Intermixed with some New Love Songs. With a Table to find every Song: To which is added an Anagram and an Accrostick on the Salamanca Doctor. The Third Addition, with the Addition of 40 New Songs never before in Print; With the Musical Notes to each Song. price bound 2 s. 6 d.  
The Lawyer Outlawed; or, a Brief Answer to Mr. Hunt's defence of the Charter. With some useful Remarks on the Commons Proceed in the last Parliament at Westminster, in a Letter to a Friend. Price 6 s.  
The Genealogies of the Highborn Prince and Princess, George and Anne of Denmark, etc. showing the Lineal Descent of these two Noble and Illustrious Families; with their Matches, Issues, Times of Death, Place of Sepulchre, Impresses and Devices, etc. From the year of Grace M. to this present year 1685. Extracted from the most Authentic Testimonies of the best Historians and Antiquaries of their times. Price bound 1 ●.  
Janua Scientiarum: Or, a Compendious Introduction to Geography, Chronology, Government, History, Philosophy; And all Gentile sorts of Literature. Price ●ound 1 ●.   

POEMS. THE WAKING VISION; OR, REALITY in a Fancy.  

AS I was walking, reading in a Book,  
Of all the Plots that Hell had undertaken,  
Methought I heard a sudden murmuring Rout,  
And curious to behold, I faced about;  
When soon the Crowd did to my sight appear,  
With a young Hero stalking in the Rear.  
Their Leader was an old man, known too well  
By that false traitorous name Achitophel:  
He faced about, and waving round his Wand,  
The cringing Rout stood still upon's command.  
Lieutenant Absolom forsook the Rear,  
And strutting forward, did i'th' Front appear.  
Thus fixed in their Array, the first that broke  
The silence, was Achitophel; who spoke  
With roaring voice, and visage most austere,  
When to his Echo all the Rout gave ear:  
All big with expectations, till the bold  
Snakelike Achitophel this story told.   

I need not tell you of the case betwixt ye,  
If you remember Forty eight and Sixty:  
How happy were we in the first of those,  
When no man durst our Laws and Wills oppose;  
Wills as obliging as the Persian Laws;  
We fought, and prospered in the good old Cause:  
None durst oppose our Faction, or appear  
In vindication of a Cavalier.  
Then all our Party in one humour stood  
To bleed the Nation, tap the Royal Blood.  
Till envious Death at last did basely trip  
Old Noll up with his short Protectorship.  
Then turned the Game, and Monk began to sing  
In Loyal tone, Now Boys a King, a King!  
Against our wills he did by force restore  
The King to that which was His Right before;  
Then all those plaguy Rogues called Cavaliers,  
Began to peep abroad, and shake their Ears;  
Each one expecting from the King to be  
Rewarded for his Truth and Loyalty.  
When thus we saw our Plots go down the wind,  
We changed our Note, and spoke in other kind.  
And made the World believe 'twas only We  
Restored the King to Crown and Dignity:  
When if we could but still have been obeyed,  
No Stuart e'er had England's Sceptre swayed.  
But since what's done can't be undone again,  
Why stand we idle, gazing here in vain?  
Let's try our wits, and Plot for to obtain,  
And play the Old Game over once again:  
Do as our Fathers did, come, play our parts,  
And let the people know you're English hearts  
That are not given to change.—  
Eighty one offers us a mark as fair,  
As ever Forty did: come;— strike;— prepare,  
Take Oaths of Secrecy, and Covenant  
To ease the Nation of her groans and want.  
(Right and Religion, Liberties and Laws,)  
Will make the Rout quickly espouse our Cause:  
Tell 'em if they don't stir they're quite undone;  
Religion's ruined, Liberties are gone:  
Persuade 'em that the Pope and Popish Train,  
Are just returning to the Land again:  
That's a pretence ne'er fails, but always takes,  
And of a Bad Old Cause a Good One makes.  
Now, now's the time; strike up, for if you miss,  
You'll never meet a time so pat as this.  
Here's Popish Plots discovered and found out,  
With Fears and Jealousies to charm the Rout;  
And soon persuades them all their Lives are lost,  
That they must burn like Martyrs at a Post,  
Unless they get the Popish Party quelled,  
That are by Evil Counsellors upheld:  
Here's Grievance upon Grievance: these are Knaves,  
And those would make the free born Subjects Slaves:  
Tell them the King's a Tyrant, and Oppressor,  
And that we have a damned Popish Successor:  
The Parliament's Dissolved, and we must be  
Governed by Arbitrary Tyranny:  
But yet be sure to keep you in the shade,  
And do what e'er you do in Masquerade.  
If any Senator against you sit,  
Be sure to call him Papist, Jesuit,  
Mac-Tory, Protestant in Masquerade,  
That would your Liberties and Rights invade.  
Now one word more, and I have spoke enough,  
Go fall to work, for I have found you stuff.   

Which having spoke, the Rout were jogging home,  
But soon returned at voice of Absolom;  
Who with andacious tone cried hark, my friends,  
Come side with me, if you'll attain your ends;  
Achitophel shall change, and take the Rear,  
And I myself will in the Front appear;  
And good old David soon shall know that I  
Will be his Heir, or else I'll bravely die.  
What though my Mother was his Concubine?  
The fault was hers, I'm sure it was not mine:  
I am his Son, and from his Loins did spring:  
I am of Royal Blood, and will be King:  
Do you but help me to obtain the Crown,  
I'll rule by Law, and all your Foes put down;  
I'll part the King and Council quite asunder,  
And will redress the Griefs you labour under:  
If once I can but to the Throne attain,  
I'll grant New Charters, and the Old maintain.  
At which the Rout with hollows filled the Skies,  
And cried, We'll venture all for Liberties:  
When suddenly the Rout did disappear,  
And all the Coast was in an instant clear.  
Then I began to think which was the worse,  
Fanatic Blessing, or a Popish Curse:  
I put them in two Scales to try their weight,  
And found the Balance equi-ponderate;  
But holding them a while, I quickly found  
As this was hoist up, that kissed the ground:  
Then suddenly I found the meaning out;  
This ruins quickly, but that round about.  
Then to my mind my thoughts began to sing,  
Go haste, and what thou'st heard inform the King:  
I durst not go, but presently I wrote,  
And sealed it up, and sent the King this Note.   

To the KING.  

DRead Sir, if you will Rule this Land in peace,  
Expel your Foes, and Friends will soon increase:  
Your Ruin does, Sir, too too plain appear,  
Rome leads the Van, Geneva brings the Rear.  
If you'll be safe, you must expel them both,  
The Roman Gnat, and the Dissenting Moth:  
And vigorously let them understand,  
You are their King, and will like King command.  
And if you  expect to gain your Ends,  
As well as open Foes, take heed of Friends;  
I mean a flattering Friend, whose only show  
Makes him a Friend, but really is not so.  
Learn by your Father, not to trust to those  
That in the end will prove confiding Foes.  
Consider on't, you're in a woeful strait,  
Think but on Forty one, and Forty eight.  
I only speak this for a Precedent,  
For Heaven I hope will all such things prevent.  
You're now the Darling of all Loyal hearts,  
And may be still, if you will take their parts:  
But if you bear with Faction, or with Rome,  
And do delay to give them both their doom,  
All Loyal men must suffer by those two,  
And be in spite of ●ate undone with You.  
You must be sure to ruin both, or none;  
If one remain, you're sure to be undone:  
For if you ruin Rome, on equal scores,  
To shut the Window, but leave open the Doors;  
Unless you ruin the fanatics too,  
For know one Nation can't hold Them and You.  
Those men I fear against your Life combine,  
That strive to cross you in your good design;  
And those men sure would yield to put you down,  
That tell the People. You are not their own.   

Pardon me, Sir, if I your quiet break,  
For Poets dare at all Adventures speak.    

The Deliquium: or the Grievance of the Nation discovered in a Dream.  

FRom evenings Coffee, laced with long Argument  
Of the King's Power and Rights of Parliament,  
And hot▪ brained Company, who make it their Vocation,  
Waving their own, to mind th' Affairs o'th' Nation;  
Whose noddles for these many months have been  
Hatchers of Grievances, unfelt, unseen;  
Ill-mannered Fools, whose ignorance is Hate,  
They understand not, therefore blame the State.  
Their real grievance is their want of sense,  
Beasts in all things, but in Obedience.  
Cloyed with their noisy Cant (in equal plight  
Of laughter, scorn, and grief) I bid good night:  
Troubled to think of England's Grand Disease,  
Groaning with th' burden of such Sots as these;  
To bed I went, where restless long I lay,  
Despaired of sleep, and waiting for the day:  
Lord! (said I) must our Monarch ne'er have rest?  
The more indulgent, th' more he is oppressed  
With Fools that know not, think not what they want;  
Their desire Granted, they'll soon cure the Grant:  
Yet the King's still in fault! methinks I see  
Tears flowing down the Cheeks of Majesty.  
If I am troubled, how much more is He,  
Who bears the burden of their Calumny?  
Thus lay I along, my Soul quite spent with Sighs,  
When sleep insensibly stole o'er my Eyes.   

From lump of Flesh unchained, methought my Soul  
Through dark unwholesome Foggy Mists did roll;  
Horror increasing still, methought I came  
To the dire Mansions of Eternal Flame,  
The Gates of Brass transparent were, and thence  
Flew Azure flames with smoke of nauseous stench,  
With a confused noise of Howls and Groans,  
Such as would melt (if any thing can) the Stones.  
The horror quelled my Spirit, that I stood  
THEM said and insensible as Stone or Wood,  
Till by a Friend revived; cheer thee, quoth he,  
This place as yet is not designed for Thee.  
He led me through the Gates, where lo, a place,  
Larger than all this lower Worlds vast space,  
The torments gave some light (else dark as night)  
A pale bituminous discoloured Light,  
Millions of wretched Souls my Fancy viewed,  
Weltering in flames, with Pitch and Brimstone strewed.   

Just at the Gate th' Infernal Senate sat;  
For know, that Hell's no Kingdom, but a State;  
A Democratick State; for it affords  
(As I was told) no King nor House of Lords:  
Tho' Lucifer's a kind of Prince, he sat  
But Chairman, or rather Speaker to the State;  
A Troop of Ghastly Fiends surround his chair,  
All which of a Select Committee were,  
Who (having played their Devils part so well)  
Had been Elected Burgesses of Hell:  
Two who were lately to Utopia sent,  
Stood now for Members of the Parliament.  
O Yes, was straight proclaimed; appear, appear,  
You that are Candidates; Mighty Lucifer  
Assures his Vote for him who merits best  
For his Utopia Service; All the rest  
To Lucifer with formal Bows submit;  
They would consent to what His Grace thought fit.   

Python appeared; Great Sir, said he, since I  
Went with this Honourable House's Embassy  
TO Utopia, I ha' brought that Realm to be  
(An't please Your Grace,) in all Conformity  
To your desire; But first I must confess  
Letters of Credence from his Holiness  
(Your Grace's Correspondent) I procured  
To some Lords there; whom I before Insured  
By my Ignatian Friends; O! they're a Crew  
Of the most hearty, diligent and true,  
Zealous unwearied Boys, to propagate  
What may conduce to th' good of this our State:  
Had they but cunning equal to their will,  
This place with humane Souls they'd quickly fill;  
You'll need no other Fiends: These did my work,  
And privily about the Realm did lurk:  
Some ignorant Bigots they engaged, and some  
Only with th' pleasing pride of Martyrdom;  
Some by Ambition's Bait were finely caught,  
All things at once boldly to venture at:  
But I confess, though all my Art I tried  
To bring the Great Almanzor to our side,  
I failed; but then I got it buzzed that He  
Would soon make one in the Conspiracy;  
This tickled, and engaged them in that Plot  
Which by th' Vtopians ne'er will be forgot.  
In short, This Honourable House knows well  
How I've deserved a Burgessship in Hell;  
If not, 've some Jesuits here can tell.  
Then through the House a murmuring Applause  
Showed that they all inclined to Python's Cause.   

When Syphax, th' other Candidate appeared,  
Great Sir, said he, I hope my Cause (when heard)  
Will gain your suffrage; Mighty Sir, you know  
M'Opponents method was a while ago  
Used by Cantarogax, Your Agent then  
To th' same Realms, tho' but in vain; since when  
Others with like Effects have used it; I  
Used the experienced Rule, Presbytery:  
This was the method, Mighty Lucifer!  
That brought ten thousand Rebel Souls a year  
For twenty years together to this place,  
For Python's part, an't please your Grace,  
He hatched a Plot I must confess; but what  
Effects did this his so much talked of Plot  
Produce? Why i'faith he even sent here no more  
Than those who were Your Grace's own before.  
For my own part, I to the House will give  
Of all my Actions a short Narrative.   

In grave and comely Hypocritick Dress,  
Bearing the outward form of Godliness,  
I clothed myself, and to Utopia went,  
Haunted the City, Court and Parliament▪  
And in short time picked up a numerous Crew  
Of all Religions, every Sect a few:  
I made all those my own who took great pains  
To make their seeming Godliness their gains:  
All those who use Religion for a fashion,  
Or seem to thrive by th' ruin of the Nation;  
All who'd at Court their expectations crossed,  
Or by ill manners had Preferments lost:  
All those who were engaged in the late Broils,  
In the King's Death and the three Nations Spoils,  
And had this King's late Act of Grace abused  
By their unnatural Ingratitudes:  
All who had lost their Games, and now would fain,  
For their own turn, have the Cards dealt again,  
I found one fit at last to steer these right,  
A Favourite of theirs, a much famed Wight,  
Capricio called, and thereby hangs a Tale,  
Meager his Visage is, his Face as pale  
As his Deeds black; Dame Nature sure designed  
That by his outside men might know his mind,  
Hell's in his Body, and his shrivled Skin  
Seems dropping from his rotten Bones within:  
His Corrupt Tortured Body does convey  
Fresh spleen and rancour to his Heart each day;  
Which lest it should o'erflow, or by mishap,  
Be overcharged from Sun or Fleece, a Tap  
Is in his Body fixed, with curious Art,  
Which from his double Envy-cankered heart,  
By pumping, does exhausted th' exundant Juice,  
Reserving still enough for's daily use.  
With this half Fiend I many Consults had,  
And we at last this Resolution made,  
Almanzor's due Succession to oppose,  
Among his many unprovoked Foes  
We chose young Martion, not for any love,  
But to undo the Youth, as time will prove:  
Poor easy Prince, he littte thinks that we  
Prostitute this his weak Credulity  
To our own use, to Anarchize the State,  
And hasten his two soon intended Fate:  
Disgusted Lords we got some two or three,  
To put their helping hands to Anarchy.  
Amongst the rest one Libertino named,  
Of him I must confess I was ashamed,  
His vicious Life did much disgrace the Cause;  
But 'twas enough his hate to King Church, Laws  
And Government in general, drew the rude  
Unthinking, Jealous, Headlong Multitude  
To esteem him so that he this Title bears,  
One of the Protestant Utopian Peers.  
With these in close Cabals sometimes I passed,  
And forged a feasible Design at last:  
'Twas thought without some provocation 'twere  
Not fit our Cause in public should appear:  
I pitched upon a Rogue, the truth to tell,  
Has not his Fellow even here in Hell,  
Among our Crew we forged a Plot, which he  
First brought to light; A Re-discovery  
He made as soon, swore to, and was believed,  
Then our good Party found themselves aggrieved  
And cried aloud These Tories, Brethrens see;  
Behold, we say, the Lords Delivery.  
This was some Bishop sure, or Masquerader.  
Soon after this a Son accused his Father;  
Forward and backward swears, at last he vows, Sir,  
He was suborned by that same Papist Towzer.  
Things went on well, & now they thought 'twas time,  
The Ladder of Rebellion they should climb:  
The Senate sat; High for the Good Old Cause,  
Magna Charta, and Fundamental Laws,  
No Arbitrary Power, but we must give  
Necessary Limits to Prerogative,  
Tho' the King mayn't, yet We may break the Laws,  
Punish at pleasure, though without a Cause;  
Then must Almanzor be excluded; He  
Has too much Spirit, too much bravery;  
They must and will have presently Redress,  
Of a long Bead-roll of Grievances.  
And these are such as the K. won't, nor can't,  
Nature and Conscience will not let him grant:  
If not, no Money, Sirs, what e'er come on't;  
A Fig for Foreign Foes, so the K. want.  
Councillor's must be taxed, and most of all  
Hali, whom they had nought to charge withal,  
But only 'cause he could discern the weather,  
And judge when Elements would clash together;  
They do not think it safe that any Lord  
That has but sense, should sit at Council-Board;  
Those that sit there should in their Foreheads have  
Their Beast-ships mark of either Fool or Knave;  
Who loved the K. was Voted strait to be  
Betrayer of the Subjects Liberty  
And their old long-loved Darling Property.  
Capricio tells them next, they want a Prince  
Fit to be trusted with the Rule; and since  
The present King's not such, they think 'twere fit  
That they be trusted both with Him and It.  
In short, I've brought that Kingdom, now of late,  
In all Conformity so near our State,  
That whosoever sees both, will surely Swear  
'Tis an exact true Pattern of This here.  
Then such loud shouts from all the Senate came,  
That I awaked, and found it but a Dream.    

SEJANUS: Or the Popular Favourite now in his solitude, and Sufferings.  

IS this thy Glory now? is this thy Pride,  
Of sticking to the Saints, and Godly side?  
Religious bugbear words that fright from hence  
From Subject, all their Loyalty to Prince,  
Make black Rebellion, seem white Innocence;  
Entitle Heaven, to the vilest Crimes,  
Make Deity, like th' Rabble, blame the Times.  
Mad Zealots! so Atheistically civil,  
Baspheme the Gods, to Compliment the Devil.  
The mightiest of the inspired Saints, is come  
To Crown himself with fancied Martyrdom:  
Geneva Whig, that still cries out at Rome,  
But raises still Domestic Broils at home.  
How quietly Great Charles might end his Reign,  
Which all in troubles the poor Prince began,  
Now vexed by Ghost, mere shadow of a Man:  
The cunning Hypocrite, that still can spy  
The smallest Mote in his kind Prince's eye,  
By Zeal, and Nature, made so double blind,  
That in his own the Beam he cannot find:  
Some say but one vast Luminary stands  
In's surrowed brow, and watches all the Land;  
But sunk into its hole, crept out of sight,  
As if it were afraid to see the Light,  
His Skull's too narrow Circle can't contain  
His Towering thought, & vast Gygantick brain;  
Blinded again with hopes of Reformation,  
Poor little Poliphemus of the Nation;  
That mighty Monster braved the rising Flood,  
And this can wade through a whole Sea of Blood.  
How hath this wretched Isle been changed, and cursed,  
Since thou wert born, and since it knew thee first!  
How did its Tributary Rivers pay  
A bloody, dreadful Homage to the Sea!  
Whilst on the Purpled Ocean thou didst ride,  
And tack about still with the Wind and Tide:  
This floating Bark, he now again would Steer,  
Ah! treacherous Pilot, and false Mariner;  
The Kingdom's yet scarce mended Hulk to save,  
Would launch again into the Purple wave:  
Religious Bully! that can cheat a Nation,  
And make it perish, working out Salvation.  
Three Kingdoms he o'erlooks, & soon can count  
The Tories all, from Barwick, to the Mount:  
S●●●● Cities, Shires, to find what each afford;  
Calls this Tantivy, that Protesting Lord:  
Sees what grave Noddle's for Caballing fit,  
And who are Bromigens of Sense and Wit..  
These are the faculties of Soul and Mind,  
And here his Body as complete you find;  
From's liquid Corpse, distils a fleeting gore,  
And the whole Carcase, makes one putrid Sore.  
The better to Emit this flowing Sap,  
His Belly carries still a Tap,  
Through which black Treason, all its dregs doth strain  
At once, both Excrements of Guts and Brain;  
But some will have his clear, thin Body pass  
For a refined sort of Optick-glass:  
Some make the polished Fabric of his Bone  
A glittering Skeleton of Specular Stone.  
Old Ovid's Muse from hence may take her flights,  
Her Argus only had an hundred sights;  
This little Monstrous Corpse, is Eye all o'er,  
And the whole Body sees at every Poor;  
Sees hatching Thought, mere Embryo of a Plot,  
Nay sees it oft before it be begot.  
But to say truth, his Optics are but two:  
Yet more than Ovid's Centinel can do  
With 100 Eyes, that many things could view;  
But this sees many hundred ways with two:  
So quick, so nimble, and such rolling Eyes,  
They watch each other, like two cunning Spies,  
Lest This declare for King, and That for People,  
For City's Pyramid, or Church's Steeple.  
Poor turning, winding, weathercock of State,  
Set on the doubtful Pinnacle of Fate,  
And now will turn again, if not too late.  
If well corrected for his Insolence,  
The little Spaniel fawns upon his Prince;  
But once escaped the Axe, or fatal Loops,  
Strait to the dull unthinking Rabble stoops,  
Puffed up with the vain blast of Vulgar breath,  
Thus small State-Urchins hurry to their death:  
So the kind Air with an officious blast,  
Tosses poor Bubbles, to the Clouds at last;  
Dances the little Globe about the Sky,  
Then breaks the glittering Ball it fanned so high.  
So Rome's famed Darling once that governed all,  
With the inconstant Rout did stand or fall;  
Th' obliged Camp, their General did Crown,  
Then dragged his ragged Carcase through the Town.  
Weak Fools! that think they may securely flee  
On the lose wings of wild Inconstancy,  
Or on its Metaphor, the Mobile.   

Disgusted by the Rout▪ this cunning Wight  
Runs cringing to his injured Monarch strait,  
Whose goodness is too ready to forgive,  
Faulty alone in suffering Him to live.  
Advanced to follow Mace, and wear a Gown,  
The Tony then saw Mutineers in Town,  
But now they all True Protestants are grown.  
Whilst he unto its Chambers can resort,  
There's nought alas, of Popery at Court;  
Clap the Prophetic Soul but in the Tower,  
It strait Divines of Arbitrary Power.  
Now leaves the Rout, and then as soon as able,  
Leaves his good Prince, just as he left the Rabble.  
Who e'er before saw such a little thing  
Contend with Monarch, grapple with a King!  
Of Oyants' o●t we read, that fought the Skies,  
Cu●t back the Thunder of the Deities;  
But ne'er of Pigmy Lord that did the same,  
A Lord that's only fit to fight with Crane.  
This buisy Noddle of the Factious Crew,  
Not now distinguished by th' old northern blue,  
(The Badge of upstart Whigs must still be new)  
With his Green Bob in this new Senate sits,  
And round him all those Liv'ry-men of wits;  
Some raze a name, and some insert a clause,  
Order their Bills themselves, & vote them Laws:  
With awful care some Scribblers penning be  
A Speech for Sister Scotland's Liberty,  
'Gainst Lauderdale's unbounded Tyranny.  
There a young Scribe is copying out a Cant,  
Next morn for to be spoke in Parliament:  
Up starts an Hector, swears upon a Book,  
'Gad you shall see we'll exclude the Duke.  
This brings a Bill 'gainst Arbitrary Power,  
And That will send a Member to the Tower;  
One Votes him to be Censured on his Knees,  
This cries Discharge, That, Let him pay his Fees:  
And in the little Club you fairly see,  
Of that great Senate an Epitomee.  
But now the mouth of this Young Rump is gone,  
The dissolved Members scatter in the Town;  
Poor Tony's now confined, and like to write  
All that fierce Indignation can Indite;  
His second Volume quickly will appear,  
The Tower always made Him Scribbler.   

As below on some bright Meteor gaze,  
Poor Panic Fools admire a little blaze,  
Which once dropped down, regardless we pass by,  
As too vile object for our scornful Eye,  
The gazing Crowd thus him in Lustre view,  
Caress, admire, and adore him too;  
But once Eclipsed, or shaded in a Cloud,  
Away runs all the silly buzzing Crowd.  
All thy past shifts will serve thee now no more,  
Or there is scarce another left in store:  
The Tempter his old Sorc'ress doth forsake,  
When once h'hath brought the withered Hag to Stake:  
When the glib changing Monster once was ta'en▪  
And fettered in the cunning Shepherd's chain,  
With all his wiles he never could escape,  
Tho' changed to Fish, to Dragon, and to Ape,  
And every minute put on other shape.   

Our sad distracted Albion gazing round,  
She saw no Foe, but still she felt a wound:  
The bleeding Deer thus trembling stands at Bay  
But can't find where the close hid Archer lay.  
As on the winding Banks, and watery Maze,  
Where famed Meander cuts his crooked ways,  
The lost confounded Traveller doth gaze.  
At last kind Fate, or Providence doth bring  
The poor despairing Soul unto the Spring:  
So some kind Angel, Genius to this Isle,  
Where peace, alas! with thee could never smile  
Hath taught us now to make her flourish still,  
Shown us the hidden Source of all her iii.  
Reason the Plummet, Wit the Line shall be,  
Both stretched to fathom, and to measure thee:  
Led through the Labyrinth of all thy Tricks,  
All the wild Mazes of thy Politics.    

A Canto upon the Miraculous Cure of the K's Evil, performed by the D. of M. in 80.  

AS Popish Farriers use t'imploy  
In their own Trade the good St. Loy,  
The Saint to whom they have Recourse,  
As to Heaven's Master of the Horse:  
To him they loudly cry for Mercy,  
On Ragged Colts that have the Farcy; 
For   
For Hackneys Galled to him they Pray,  
And Drink dead Drunk upon his day:  
So to his Grace of M— Trots,  
A Filly Fole that had the Bots;  
For still she knew, (and 'twas no News)  
He kept the Mares, though not the Muse.   

But had you seen the Skittish Jade,  
You would have thought her Drunk or Mad;  
For at first dash his Hand she seized,  
Much was th' Ambitious Hero pleased.  
So sweetly did Don Quixot Grin;  
When the Maid Marrian of the Inn  
He thought was some Enchanted Queen;  
Asked his Dead-doing Hand to Kiss;  
But what White Devil danced in this?  
Some Fly, some Rat, or Great old Pus,  
Or Spirit Mephistopheles;  
Or Pug that Paracelsus wore  
In the Pommel of his Sword before;  
Or Healing Virtue that as Rare is,  
Is sent His Grace by's Aunt of Fairies,  
Who aids him thus in Hugger Mugger,  
So did Doll Common, Abel Drugger.  
Some sweaty Devil in his Palm,  
Transfuses Brine instead of Balm;  
And Brine you know is good for th' Itch,  
In any mangy Dog or Bitch:  
Long in his Fist the Leprous Drab,  
Paddles and pores familiar Scab.  
The Witch her Dam had set her Fancy  
Agog upon this Chyromancy;  
To view each Line the Hag Importunes,  
And thus Young Gipsy reads his Fortunes.   

The men of Westminster shall pass  
High Votes in Honour of Your Grace;  
No Prayers for fear of the Black-Rod,  
They'll Vote (I fear) No King, No God.  
Great stickling there shall be for Two,  
Pillory'd Benjamin and You.  
What will you give me the next Spring,  
If then You are not Crowned King?  
By Oats before we Reap next Crop,  
Oats in a Tub will Preach You up.   

So Sibyl ended her vile Guessing,  
And each to other gave their Blessing;  
But Oh! the Green sick Girls may boast,  
This Duke hath Cured them to his Cost;  
Though now he cuts his Capers high,  
He may with False-staff one day cry,  
(When Age hath set him in the Stocks)  
A Pox on my Gout, a Gout of my Pox.   

Yet that Fat Knight with all his Guts,  
That were not then so sweet as Nuts,  
Though oft he boldly fought and winked,  
Led Harry M— by Instinct;  
Reveres a Buckram Prince of Wales,  
His great Heart quops, his Courage quails.   

The Lion Rampant is too wise,  
To touch a Prince, though in Disguise:  
Much less a Prince so Kind and Civil,  
To touch a Kingdom for Kings-Evil.  
He means to make it (for its Health)  
A Common Whore, a Commonwealth.   

The stroaker Graitrix was a sot,  
And all his Feat-tricks are forgot;  
But Duke Trinculo, and Tom Dory,  
Will be a famous Quack in story.  
Let every scabby City Cuckoo,  
Fly into Your Hedge-lane to look You,  
If Seventh Sons do things so Rare.  
In You seven Fathers have a share.  
Show us some more of these fine Mocks,  
Show then Your Black Art, Your Black Box.  
'Tis thought 've there some pure Receipt,  
Great Mountebank of our sick State.   

Your Zany, who this Cure reveals,  
Tell us in March Your Highness heals.    

Tom Ross's Ghost to his Pupil.  

SHame of my Life, Disturber of my Tomb,  
Base as thy Mother's prostituted Womb;  
Huffing to Cowards, fawning to the Brave,  
To Knaves a Fool, to credulous Fools a Knave,  
The King's Betrayer, and the People's Slave.  
Like Samuel at the Necromantic Call,  
I rise to tell thee, God has left thee, SAUL?  
I strove in vain thy Infected Blood to cure,  
Streams will run muddy where the Spring's impure.  
In all your meritorious Life we see  
Old TAAFS invincible sobriety.  
Places of Master of the Horse, and Spy,  
You (like Tom H— d) did at once supply:  
From Sydney's Blood your Loyalty did spring;  
You show us all your Fathers but the KING,  
From whose too tender and too bounteous Arms,  
(Unhappy he who such a Viper warms;  
As dutiful a Subject, as a son)▪  
To Your true Parents, the whole Town you run.  
Read if You can, how th' old Apostate fell,  
Outdo his pride, and Merit more than Hell:  
Both He and You were gloriously bright,  
The first and purest of the Sons of Light:  
But when like Him you offered at the Crown  
Like Him, your angry Father kick▪ You dawn.    

The Oxford Alderman's Speech to the D, of M. at His entrance into that City about September 80.  

STout Hannibal, before He came to Age,  
Perpetual Wars with Rome was sworn to wage!  
You lead us to such Wars; Oh happy We!  
Great Prince! You are a Soldier good as He:  
Though some will say, (to give the Devil his due)  
He was as good a Protestant as You.  
You to the Whore of Whores, the Whore of Rome,  
Devoted from Your own chaste Mother's Womb;  
Though in the Schools of Jesuits true bred,  
You scorned to learn of them to write or read:  
A Protestant! (the more to be admired)  
That never were Instructed, but Inspired,  
So unconcerned from Popery You pass,  
No use of Understanding in the Case.  
True Interest (that all other things o'repowers)  
And generous Indignation made You Ours:  
Even so in Spain to Mass come Trading Jews,  
Cast Drabs turn Quakers but to spite the Stews.  
But Fears and Jealousies of You we scorn,  
That are so true a Son of Honour born;  
And since have made both Gog and Magog bleed,  
Act but the Demagogue, You'll do the Deed:  
You'll Damn and Ram proud Antichrist to Hell;  
But force Him first to work one Miracle.  
He that with four hard words, and one Grave Nod,  
Turns an insipid Wafer into God;  
Were You a Dough-baked Duke, with less ado,  
To Prince of Wales might Transubstantiate You.  
Do you but say't, we'll swear that You are so,  
And rather Kiss Your Hand, than Kiss His Toe:  
Resolved, Resolved, It must not be gain said;  
Faith we'll believe Your Mother was a Maid.   

Why should You think Ambition any Crime?  
We'll make You Duke of Venice in goodtime:  
Or, if You scruple to Usurp the Crown;  
Having once raised Us, You may then sit down.  
You, or Your Friends shall have the foremost place;  
Perhaps we'll join Sir Armstrong with Your Grace:  
Whether You Reign, or He, it is all one,  
Great Alexander's Dear Hephestion.   

But when You come to Reap these goodly Fruits,  
Sweet Sir, remember these our Suits,  
First, Let these Lordly Bishops to Pot;  
'Tis plain their Lordships all are in the Plot,  
They hold none lawful Heirs, but lawfully begot.   

Our Commonwealth's a Castle in the Air,  
If we Pray for King or Common▪ Prayer.  
These Paltry Scholars, blast them with I breath,  
Or they'll Rhyme your Grace and Us to death.  
Then O brave we! then hay for our good Town!  
Then up go we when Wit and Sense go down.    

The Ghost of the late Parliament to the New one to meet at OXFORD  

FRom Deepest Dungeon of Eternal Night,  
The Seats of horror, sorrow, pains & spite,  
I have been sent to tell Your tender Youth  
A Seasonable and Important Truth!  
I feel (but Oh too late) that no Disease,  
Is like the Surfeit of Luxurious Ease;  
And of all others, the most tempting things,  
Are too much Wealth, and too Indulgent Kings.  
None ever was Superlatively Ill,  
But by degrees, Industry and Skill:  
And some, whose meaning hath at first been fair,  
Grow Knaves by Use, and Rebels by Despair,  
My time is past, and yours will soon begin,  
Keep your first Blossoms from the blast of Sin;  
And by the Fate of my Tumultuous ways,  
Preserve yourselves, and bring Serener Days.  
The busy subtle Serpents of the Law,  
Did first my mind from true Obedience draw;  
While I did Limits to the King Prescribe,  
And took for Oracles that Canting Tribe;  
I changed true Freedom for the name of Free,  
And grew Seditious for Variety.  
All that opposed me were to be accused,  
And, by the Law Illegally abused!  
The Robe was summoned, M— d in the Head,  
In Legal Murder none so deeply read:  
I brought him to the Bar, where once he stood,  
Stained with the (yet Un-expiated) Blood  
Of the Brave Strafford, when 3 Kingdoms rung,  
With his accumilative Hackney Tongue;  
Prisoners and Witnesses were waiting by;  
These had been taught to Swear, & those to Dye;  
And to expect their Arbitrary Fates,  
Some for Ill Faces, some for Good Estates:  
To fright the People, and alarm the Town,  
Burnet & Oates employed the Reverend Gown:  
But while the Triple Mitre bore the Blame,  
The Kings Three Crowns were all their aim,  
I seemed, (and did but seem) to fear the Guards,  
And took for mine the Bethels and the Wards,  
Antimonarchick Heretics of State,  
Immoral Atheists, Rich, and Reprobate.  
But above all I got a little Guide,  
Who every Foard of Villainy had Tried;  
None knew so well the old pernicious way,  
To Ruin Subjects, and make Kings Obey;  
And my small Jehu at a furious rate,  
Was driving Eighty back to Forty Eight.  
This the King knew, and was resolved to bear;  
But I mistook his Patience for his Care.  
All that this Happy Island could afford,  
Was Sacrific'd-to my Voluptuous Board.  
In his whole Paradise One only Tree  
He had excepted by a strict Decree;  
A Sacred Tree which Royal Fruit did bear,  
Yet It in pieces I Conspired Tear;  
Beware my Child! Divinity is there.  
This so out▪ did all I had done before,  
I could attempt, and He endure no more,  
My unprepared and un-repenting Breath,  
Was snatched away by the swift Hand of Death;  
And I (with all my Sins about me) hurled,  
To th' utter Darkness of the lower World:  
A dreadful place where you too soon shall see,  
If You believe Seducers more than Me.    

The Parliament Dissolved at OXFORD,  
March the 28th. 1681.  

UNder 500 Kings Three kingdoms groan:  
Go Finch Dissolve them, Charles is in the Throne,  
And by the Grace of God will Reign alone.   

What would the Commons have? the Royal Line  
Heaven does dispose of; 'tis not Theirs, nor Mine,  
But His by whom King's Rule, and are Divine.   

I represent the King of Kings, who gave  
The Crown, the Sword, the Sceptre; what I have;  
I am God's Servant, not the People's Slave.   

Their Frantic Votes, & Mad Resolves I hate;  
I know a better way to heal a State,  
Than to Sin rashly, and Repent too late,   

Bid them be gone F. they are damned uncivil,  
To oblige Me to follow them to th' Devil;  
To save Three Kingdoms I will not do Evil.   

The presbyterians sick of too much Freedom,  
Are ripe for bethlehem; it's high time to bleed 'em;  
The 2d. Charles does neither fear nor need 'em.   

I'll have the World know that I can Dissipate  
Those Impolitic Mushrooms of our State,  
'Tis easier to Dissolve than to Create.   

They shan't Cramp Justice with their feigned flaws;  
For since I govern only by the Laws;  
Why they should be exempt, I see no cause.   

To the Laws they must submit; 'tis in vain  
 to attempt to shake off those again;  
For where Charles commands, there must Justice Reign.   

When the People's Father does espouse the Law,  
All those who Subjects from their Duty draw,  
Do Viperlike, through Parent's Bosom gnaw.   

When they attend Me next, F. bid them bring  
Calmer thoughts; bid them propose Legal Things;  
Such as may both become Themselves & Kings.   

This will the Joys of our little World Complete,  
And all attempts of Foreign Foes Defeat;  
Making the People Happy, Monarch Great.    

The RECOVERY.  

YEt once more Peace turns back her head, to smile,  
And take some pity on our stubborn Isle;  
She and her Sister Truth now Hand in Hand,  
Return to visit our forsaken Land.  
I see, I see, O Albion! Bless the Sight!  
Truth (long Eclipsed) lift up her Sacred Light,  
And chase away the obscene Birds of Night.  
Th'ill boding Screech-Owl we so long did fear,  
Hovering above us in our thick'ned Air;  
Whose fatal note was never heard, but Death  
Followed th' Infernal Evidencing Breath.   

Hail lovely Truth! Oh! spread thy Rays Divine,  
And bid thy dawning Beams more fully Shine;  
Already thy Glad Influence we find,  
And all now see, but they who will be blind:  
They see whilst thou hold'st up thy Guiding light,  
The dangerous error of their Former Night;  
A Night, which all our Heaven did invade,  
By the dire skill of State Magicians made:  
In a dark Cell the Wayward Brothers met,  
I'th' midst a Chair there was for Satan set;  
Which in his Absence's———  
A little withered Conjurer supplied,  
And all his Imps drank Venom from his side:  
His word was (than He out his Tap did pluck,)  
Come my young Pugs of Treason, come and suck:  
This Hellish Rite performed, to work they go  
To raise up Darkness from the shades below;  
Thick Mists of Popular Fears and Jealousies  
Did at their Necromantic Call arise,  
And in Black Clouds hid the British Skies.  
Here first their unskilled Spirits the visions played,  
And learned their Visions to the Hatfield Maid:  
Here first were raised the wondering world to  
The Armies Harris mustered in the Air.  
But now the Charms dissolved, & England's free scar,  
From the Enchantment, does its madness see;  
See its vain fears of that expected day,  
No Royal Blood stained the Fifteenth of May:  
Prevailing Truth has opened Britain's Eyes,  
And Folly seen, gins to make her wise.  
O let us then Unite, make Faction cease,  
Nor think Confusion is the way to Peace;  
That Schism must the Churches Fall prevent,  
Or breaking Law, secure the Government.  
Let Traitors to expected Trial come,  
And from the mouth of Justice receive their doom:  
'Tis so, the Traitor comes, now, now maintain  
Justice thy Seat, nor bear the Sword in vain.  
Tho Hackney Speakers would o'er Law prevail,  
And Conquer Thee by telling a false Tale;  
Though Factious or Guilty Lords appear,  
To blunt that Sword whose edge they justly fear;  
Tho Garter Blue, and Star the Court should awe,  
But Oh! that Star does now its Beams withdraw;  
Nor at the Trial will its Light dispense,  
To cherish Treason with its Influence.  
What then are they who from thy hand would snatch  
The blackest Traitor Hell did ever hatch?  
When they but once that Horrid Paper see,  
Which does almost exceed in Villainy,  
Satan, or his Vicegerent Shaftsbury;  
Who in this Cause so much had never done,  
But that he knew the ugly Brat his own.  
Yet all in vain strives Counsellor and Lord,  
Revenging Goddess, speak the fatal Word;  
Nor let Confession turn aside thy Blow,  
But once strike Rogues that own that they are so;  
Had this been early done, t'had saved the Gild  
Of so much Blood so prodigally spilt;  
While certain Villainy did hurry hence,  
To unjust Death suspected Innocence.  
But Justice now in this Triumphant Scene,  
Thy Shame does end, and Triumph does begin▪  
All this to thy Defender Charles is due,  
Who now with Thee His Glory does renew;  
Already with fresh Beams the Crown does shine,  
Power Sacred grows, and Majesty Divine,  
His Majesty's Sceptre's in His Hand held fast,  
Nor like a Reed is bend with every blast:  
Hold, hold Great Charles, this Resolution hold,  
And in thy own and Kingdoms Cause be Bold;  
What ever of this mighty Body, Thou  
The Head resolv'st, We thy Hands will do;  
Dare to be Happy, and to make Us so.   

How Great is Majesty, and how August?  
How God like, when 'tis resolutely Just?  
Then 'tis that Willing Subjects gladly meet,  
To throw their Lives before their Monarch's feet;  
Then 'tis their Fortunes they before him lay,  
Sue to be Ruled, and Glory to Obey.  
Such Charles is now thy State, and such the Train  
Of these that now Petition thee to Reign;  
See, even thy Prodigal Son does now desire,  
To leave his Husks, & Swine, & Wapping Mire,  
In which so long he wallowed up and down,  
Known to each Dirty Kennel of the Town;  
And to his injured Father, and his Lord,  
Would by his much wronged Uncle be restored:  
How well has Williams, Jones, and W— n,  
B—h, G— d, T T —y, their great Duties done!  
How have they taught the People to Repent  
Their Zeal for their great Idol Parliament?  
How have they shown the Arbitrary way  
That Monster took to make us all its Prey?  
They to lose all, claimed more than was their Right,  
And stretched their Power only to break it qui●e.  
These, these are they who have true service done,  
Meriting their Sacred Favours from the Crown:  
These, these have made a Dissolution be,  
Not Wisdom only, but Necessity.  
These thus removed our Jealousies and Fears,  
Were ever so Deserving Pensioners!   

Then Charles, since all things now conspire to bless  
Thy peaceful Age with Conquest and Success;  
Begin, Resolve, and Venture to be Great,  
Nor overthrow these vast Designs of Fate:  
Begin at home, purge thine own House, and free  
From Villains Tongues the Ears of Majesty;   

False P—s from thy Bedchamber Discard,  
Let Catchpole Br— s thy Crourt be barred,  
Nor leave one Factious R— l in the Guard.    

A Panegyric upon OATS.  
Silvestrum Tenui Musam Meditemur Avena.  

OF all the Grain our Nation yields  
In Orchards, Gardens, or in Fields,  
There is a Grain (which though 'tis common)  
Its Worth till now, was known to no man.  
Not Ceres Sickle 'ere did Crop  
A Grain with Ears of greater hope;  
For why? some say, the Earth ne'er bore,  
In any Clime such Seed before.   

Yet this Grain has (as all must own)  
To Grooms and Ostlers well been known;  
And often has, (without disdain,)  
In musty Barn and Manger lain;  
As if it had been only good  
To be for Birds and Beasts the Food:  
But now by new inspired force,  
It keeps alive both Man and Horse:  
Speak then my Muse, for now we guess,  
What Grain it is, thou wouldst express.  
It is not Barley, Rye, or Wheat,  
That can pretend to such a Feat;  
'Tis OATES, bare OATS, which become  
The Health of England, Bane of Rome,  
And Wonder of all Christendom.  
And therefore OATES has well deserved,  
From Musty Barn to be preferred,  
And now in Royal Court preserved;—  
That, like Hesperian Fruit, OATS may  
Be Watched and Guarded Night and Day;  
Which is but just Retaliation  
For having Guarded a whole Nation.   

Hence every lofty Plant which stands  
'Twixt Barwick Walls, and Dover Sands;  
The Oak itself, which well we style,  
The Pride and Safeguard of our Isle,  
Must Wave and Strike its Lofty Head,  
And now Salute an Oaten Reed.  
For surely Oates deserves to be  
Exalted far ●bove any Tree.   

Th' Egyptians once (tho' it seems odd)  
Did Worship Onions for a God;  
And poor peeled Garlic was with them  
Esteemed beyond the greatest Gem.  
What would they done, had they, think ye,  
Had such a Blade of Oats as we?  
OATS of such known Divinity!  
Since then by Oats such good we find,  
Let Oats at least now be enshrined,  
Or in some Sacred Press enclosed  
Be only kept to be exposed;  
And all fond Relics else, shall be  
Deemed Objects of Idolatry.  
Popelings may tell us, how they saw  
Their Garnet's Picture on a Straw;  
'Twas a great Miracle we know,  
To see him drawn in little so,  
But on an Oaten Stalk, there is  
A greater Miracle than this;  
A Visage, which with lively Grace  
Does twenty Garnets' now Outface,  
And Twig of Dodona's Grove  
Even speaks as if inspired by Jove.  
Nay, to add to the Wonder more,  
Declares unheard-of Things before,  
And thousand Mysteries does unfold,  
As plain as Oracles of old;  
By which we steer Affairs of State,  
And stave off Britain's sudden Fate.   

Let's then, in honour of the Name  
Of Oats, enact some Solemn Game,  
Where Oaten Pipe shall us inspire  
Beyond the Charms of Orpheus' Lyre;  
Stones, Stocks, and every senseless thing  
To Oats shall Dance, to Oats shall Sing,  
Whilst Woods amazed to th' Echo's ring.  
And as (that Hero's Names may not  
When they are rotten, be forgot;)  
We hang Achievements o'er their Dust;  
(A debt to their great merits just:)  
So if Deserts of Oats we prise,  
Let OATS still hang before our Eyes;  
Thereby to raise our Contemplation,  
OATES being to this Happy Nation  
The Mystic Emblem of Salvation.    

An Epithalamium upon the Marriage of Captain William Bedloe.  

Ille ego qui quondam gracili modulatus Avena,  
Arma virumque Cano.—   

I, he, who Sung of humble OATS before,  
Now Sing a Captain and a Man of War.   

GOddess of Rhyme, that didst inspire  
The Captain with Poetic fire,  
Adding fresh Laurels to that brow  
Where those of Victory did grow,  
And statelyer Ornaments may flourish now.  
If thou art well recovered since  
The Excommunicated Prince:  
For that Important Tragedy,  
Would have killed any Muse but Thee;  
Hither with speed, Oh! hither move,  
Pull buskins off, and since to Love,  
The ground is holy that you tread in,  
Dance barefoot at the Captain's Wedding.   

See where he comes, and by his side  
His charming fair Angelic Bride:  
Such, or less lovely was the Dame  
So much Renowned, Fulvia by name,  
With whom of old Tully did join,  
Then when his Art did undermine,  
The Horrid Popish Plot of Catiline.  
Oh fairest Nymph of all great Britain,  
(Though thee my Eyes I never set on)  
Blush not on thy great Lord to smile,  
The second Saviour of our Isle;  
What nobler Captain could have led  
Thee to thy longed-for Marriage Bed;  
For know that thy all-daring Will is  
As stout a Hero as Achilles;  
And as great things for thee has done,  
As Palmerin or th' Knight o'th' Sun,  
And is himself a whole Romance alone.  
Let conscious Flanders speak, and be  
The Witness of his Chivalry.  
Yet that's not all, his very word  
Has slain as many as his Sword:  
Though common Bulleys with their Oaths  
Hurt little till they come to blows,  
Yet all his Mouth-Granadoes kill,  
And save the pains of drawing steel.  
This Hero thy resistless Charms  
Have won, to fly into thy arms,  
For think not any mean design,  
Or the inglorious itch of Coin,  
Can ever have his breast controlled,  
Or make him be a Slave to Gold;  
His Love's as freely given to Thee,  
As to the King his Loyalty,  
Then, Oh receive thy mighty prize  
With open Arms and wishing Eyes,  
Kiss that dear Face, where may be seen  
His Worth and Parts that sculk within;  
That Face that justly styled may be  
As true a Discoverer as Herald  
Think not he ever false will prove,  
His well known Truth secures his Love;  
Do you a while divert his cares  
From his important grand affairs:  
Let him have respite now a while  
From kindling the mad Rabbles Zeal.  
Zeal that is hot as fire, yet dark and blind,  
Shows plainly where its birthplace we may find,  
In Hell, where tho' dire flames for ever glow,  
Yet 'tis the place of utter Darkness too.  
But to his Bed be sure be true,  
As he to all the world, and You,  
He all your Plots will else betray,  
All ye She-Matchiavils can lay.  
He all designs you know has found,  
Tho' hatched in Hell, or under ground;  
Oft to the world such secrets show,  
As scarce the Plotters themselves knew;  
Yet if by chance you hap to sin,  
And Love while Honour's napping should creep in.  
Yet be discreet, and do not boast  
O'th' Treason by the common Post.  
So shalt thou still make him Love on  
All Virtues in Discretion.  
So thou with him shalt shine, and be  
As great a Patriot as He;  
And when, as now in Christmas, all  
For a new Pack of Cards do call,  
Another Popish Pack comes out  
To please the Cits, and charm the Rout;  
Thou mighty Queen shalt a whole Suit command,  
A Crown upon thy Head, a Sceptre in thy Hand.    

Funeral Tears upon the Death of Captain William Bedloe.  

SAd Fate! our valiant Captain Bedloe,  
In Earth's cold Bed lies with his head-low;  
Who to his last made out the PLOT,  
And Swearing died upon the spot.  
Sure Death was Popishly affected,  
She had our Witness else protected;  
Or downright Papist; or i Jade  
A Papist is in Masquerade.   

The valiant Bedloe, Learned Oats,  
From Popish Knives saved all our Throats:  
By such a Sword, and such a Gown,  
Soon would the Beast have tumbled down.  
They conquer like the Hebrew King,  
And Oaths at Rome's Golia sling;  
And never take God's name in vain;  
As many Oaths, so many slain.  
The stoutest of the Roman Band  
Can not their thundering Volleys stand;  
But all those Missioners of Hell  
By dint of Affidavit fell.   

Great things our Hero brought to light;  
Yet greater still kept out of sight:  
And, for his King and countries' sake,  
Still New Discoveries could make:  
In proper season to relieve,  
He still kept something in his sleeve,  
He was become, for England's good,  
An end less Mine, a wastless Flood▪  
Still Prodigal, yet never Poor;  
No spending could exhaust his Store.  
But Eeath, (alas)! that Popish Fiend,  
To all our hopes has put an end;  
Has stopped the Course, and dried the Spring  
Which new Plot-tidings would bring.   

This Witness (did the Fates so please)  
Had sworn us into Happiness?  
Made the Court Chaste, Religion Pure,  
And wrought an Universal Cure;  
Sworn Westminster into good Order;  
Reformed Chief Justice and Recorder;  
The Land from Romish Locusts purged,  
And from Whitehall the Chits had scourged;  
Had judged the great Succession-Case,  
And sworn the Crown to the right place.   

ENGLAND! thy mighty loss bemoan;  
Thy watchful Centinel is gone!  
Now may the Pilgrim's Land from Spain,  
And (Undiscovered) cross the Main:  
Now may the Forty thousand Men  
In Popish Arms be raised again:  
Black-Bills may fly about our Ears:  
(Who shall secure us from our Fears?)  
Jesuits may fall to their old Sport  
Of burning, slaying Town and Court,  
And we be ne'er the wiser for't.   

Then pity us; exert thy Power,  
To save us in this dangerous hour:  
Thou hast to death sworn many men,  
Ah! swear thyself to life again.    

ANAGRAM and ACROSTIC On the Salamanca-Doctor,  
Anagram.  

TITUS OATS  
JUST A SOT.   

WHen Adam proper Names on Beasts conferred,  
The Salamanca-Doctor was it'h ' Herd;  
The Midwife, she foresam 'twould prove a Dunce,  
So gave him Name and Character at once:  
Which but unfold, and join again with Art,  
Both Sot and Drunkard lurk in every part;  
Nor is his Temper thus alone betrayed,  
'Tis on his Face in Ruby Signs displayed.  
Well may we doubt the Gospel of that PLOT,  
Whose chiefest Evidence is JUST A SOT.    

AN ACROSTIC.  

Trayter to God, damned Source of Blasphemy,  
Insect of Hell, grand Mass of Perjury;  
Through paced Villain, second unto none,  
Unless to Judas▪ (if by him outdone;)  
Satan's black Agent, Hell's Monopoly,  
Of all that's called Sin and Villainy:  
accursed Parent of an Hellbred Brood,  
Teacher of Lies, Spiller of guiltless Blood;  
England's dark Cloud, Eclipsing all her Glory;  
Satan's Delight, and Hell's Repository.    

The Convert SCOT, and Apostate ENGLISH.  

1.  
CLeveland; thy Ashes (sure) will rise,  
The Scots, are Proselytes become,  
Here were those Rebels in disguise;  
And now thou wouldst reverse their Doom.   

2.  
'Twas our Fanatic Presbyter,  
The Devil's Factors made the Plot,  
By them misled, the Scots did Err;  
When then thou called'st, Apostate Scot   

3.  
The Proverb; From the North no Good,  
Is now turned South, where Perjured Slaves  
Swear us to Goals; and in a Flood  
Of Butchery, scarce give us Graves.   

4.  
The Damned Crew of Angels fall,  
Whose Pride first moved them to Rebel,  
But you Incarnate, worst of all,  
Through Malice God and Man would Sell.   

5.  
Devil to Devils all were true,  
But Man to Man▪ no thought can reach,  
Nature would cease to be, if you  
Might cut off all you would Impeach.   

6.  
The Laws construction doth lie  
In Judges Breasts; the Letter kills;  
Justice, such Evidence throws by,  
Whose lives are Infamous for Ills.   

7.  
There's seven of them, and seven more,  
Have Covenanted all with Hell,  
To make seven deadly Sins their Whore;  
None ever knew her half so well.   

8,  
These Villains charge themselves with Crimes  
They have not done? Damned Policy!  
That what they swear at other times  
May be believed, though Perjury!   

9  
To which a Pardon-being had,  
Then Hang who e'er they will accuse;  
And make the Raging Rabble mad,  
When any man for Justice Sues.   

10.  
Reason is Witchcraft; or else why  
Can any Man of Sense believe  
Such Basket-Crew, e'er came so nigh  
To Courts and Councils to deceive.   

11.  
Commissions, Armies, Fleets, and France,  
All this Intrigue discovered be  
Oats, Bedloe, Dugdale, Dangerfield and Prance,  
Who can believe so strange a Lie?   

12.  
Did ever men sell their Belief  
To Goals and Pillories? who yet  
Gives Credit to a Common Thief,  
Or Branded Rogue on mischief set?   

13.  
Plague of the Innocent, the Nations Curse,  
The hand of Heaven will cut down;  
Since God made Man, none ever worse  
Pretended yet to save a Crown.   

14.  
But these the Vulgar Hereling Slaves,  
The Bashaw's use to Storm their Works,  
And raise themselves upon their Graves;  
Such are our English (Noble) Turks.   

15.  
Justice awake, Scroggs sit thou fast,  
Thou wert o'er ruled by Perjuries:  
But Langhorn's Case urges thy haste,  
To clear fair Truth from Forgeries.   

16.  
Now un-deceived, be just and bold,  
You dare enough, do then as well,  
And growing Good, as you grow Old,  
Ages to, come may your Justice tell.   

17.  
Our Laws are founded, or should be,  
On the Laws of God, Who never Kill  
When they can Save; and yet you see  
How Blood of Innocents' we Spill.   

18.  
The Law condemns a Priest to die,  
But Supreme Law commands them not,  
That for their Lives they must not fly;  
One of the two they must forego.   

19  
Our Faith in many points agree,  
Our Birthrights we may claim of old;  
What is it then to any he  
If ancient Verity I hold.   

20.  
Likely, you Err, for upward look,  
What ages passed believed do I,  
And nearer to the Spring, the Brook  
Far distant, doth in Puddles die:  
If at the Fount, I Drink or Wash,  
The Crystal Spring hath used no dash.   

21.  
Hath Charity deserved to Die,  
Our Saviour Suffered for that;  
We sometimes kill an Enemy,  
Not murder Friends for none knows what.   

22.  
Our Laws receive their force from Power,  
And the Offenders forfeit Life;  
Here 'tis, where Law doth Law devour,  
And why, such Law, would end the Strife?   

23.  
Men long in Peace, deserving well  
From King and Country, now surprised,  
And charged with Crimes, no age can tell,  
But those who have this Plot devised.   

24.  
Now worthy Scrogs, your Brethren too;  
Unbyass'd let your Judgements fall;  
We dare the World, what they can do,  
May we have Justice, when we call.   

25.  
Oh! Cleaveland, hadst thou lived this age,  
Thou couldst not Write, unless to Lie;  
For none but Devils tread our Stage:  
Where speaking Truth, you surely Die  
For public Good or Popery.   

26.  
A King to Govern, or else none,  
A Linsey woolsey Government;  
'Tis Rabble Property they own,  
And say 'tis Law, or so 'tis meant.   

27.  
They stalk with one ambitions Fool,  
Affecting Popularity;  
Make use of Him as a Close-stool,  
First fill Him up, then throw Him by.   

28.  
The Monster Mobile, then Roars,  
Prepared by th' Mountebank of State,  
We'll have no Fools, nor Sons of Whores,  
A Common wealth shall end their Date.   

29  
Nor King, nor Parliament, nor Laws,  
Kill all pretenders to the Crown;  
Nor Lords, nor Bishop; those Pied Daws,  
With all adherents shall go down.   

30.  
Then up go we, we'll share the Land;  
Too long they have usurped our Right:  
And now by turns, we'll all command,  
And show the World our last New Light.   

31.  
Are we not good as Fishermen?  
Our Hogan-Mogan Neighbours now;  
They were called Traitors; and what then?  
Their King that was, now does them allow.   

32.  
They did Reform, it thrived, so good,  
God did intent what they should be;  
They were enforced to let some Blood,  
(As We) to purge Idolatry.   

33.  
Your Elders Laws have that vast scope,  
Preliminary to all Power;  
Each in his Parish would be Pope,  
Like Baal's Priests all things devour.   

34.  
These are your Saintships' Rules of State,  
And Lueifer hath Lectured you;  
All above you, ye Deadly hate,  
And would not God should have his due.   

35.  
Must still the Van Religion,  
Led on by Lies and false pretence,  
Bring up the Rear Rebellion;  
And blind your Reason without Sense.   

36.  
Set up an Idol-Parliament  
Which with false Worship men adore,  
As if Religion were now meant,  
The House of Commons, Common-Whore.   

37.  
The slights of Hocus not so plain,  
Though Cheats our sight, yet none believe,  
But Hocus still he doth remain,  
Through fine Conveyance in his Sleeve.   

38.  
Thus Captain Satan leads you on;  
Your Pride and Malice makes you Swell,  
Then Captain leaves ye all alone,  
You'll find the way yourselves to Hell.   

39  
Damned Hypocrites, Rebellious Race,  
In Power Impudent and Bold;  
Pale Whining Cowards; Face to Face  
Your Good and Hopes lies in your Gold.   

40.  
 Fools, can your base Coin  
Corrupt that God who Kings protects,  
Or suffer you to break that Line,  
Which he hath made, and still directs.   

41.  
'Tis not to cast down Popery,  
But by your counterfeited Zeal;  
To raise New-englands' Anarchy,  
Devolving to a Commonweal.   

42.  
Too long on Caterpillars, I  
Digression make; but now to Men  
Whose Honour, in Antiquity  
Deserves to be revived again.   

43.  
Religion early there embraced  
By Race of Kings, Christians bold,  
Brave men at Arms, and not debased;  
And now this Age revives the Old.   

44  
Now Sweet blows the Northern Air,  
Dispelling Mists, and no Clouds there;  
The Rebel Covenant washed fair,  
No thoughts against an apparent Heir.   

45.  
Brave Scots go on, a Braver man  
ne'er wanted yet Protection,  
Than our Great Duke of York; what can,  
But This, merit Oblivion?  
All that is passed of Guilty Fact,  
Lies buried here, in this one Act.   

46.  
None live Unblemished, or who not deceived,  
Who ever Trusts unhappily  
May err; If none must be believed,  
We must forsake Society.   

47.  
Frailties to all men are allowed;  
We Plume not here on Angel's Wings;  
The weak or fearful in a Cloud,  
Cannot distinguish best of Things.   

48.  
Repentance wipes out blackest Spots,  
If ye relapse y'are sick to death,  
Be henceforth called the Convert-Scots,  
This Covenant sign now with your Breath.   

49.  
A Glorious occasion now  
Courts ye with opportunity:  
Let after-ages say of You  
When all men failed us, You stood by.   

50.  
Your King, your Country, all their Friends  
Now need your Duty, and your Love,  
Bravely appear, and make amends;  
Let's Hand in Hand together move.   

51.  
Down with your Kirk-Roost, Curb them so  
They cannot hurt; take Sword in Hand,  
Defend your King from Inbred Foe.  
And York conduct you in Command.   

52.  
The Law of Nature binds Mankind,  
And that Religion is so true,  
To give and take with equal mind,  
To God and Caesar, what is due.   

53.  
Rouse then, Brave men, let the World see,  
What you dare do for Royal Blood;  
Your Lives and Country are not free;  
‛ Less you maintain Monarchy Good.   

54.  
But if ye fail, all Good men's Curse  
On you and your Posterity:  
May ye be Slaves, and what is worse,  
Beg Bread of your Presbytery.    

A Postscript upon the D. of York's Return to Scotland.  

NOw York again Shines in our Sphere,  
A constant Daylight, true born Son;  
Which doth forebode a Happy Year,  
Now finish what you have begun.   

2.  
If your wild Spirit is, possessed  
With Hellish Principles Rebel,  
And against Legal Power protest,  
Send them the shortest way to Hell.   

3.  
For speedy Justice in a Storm,  
And Mutiny more Souls doth Save,  
Then slow Proceeding by Laws Form,  
Lost time, a Master's made a Slave.   

4.  
Examples made to terrify,  
Makes men consider what they do;  
where no Reprieve is, but must Die,  
Men are unapt t'engage that Foe.   

5.  
Let your Great Council make an Act,  
And by that Act all Subjects Bind,  
To take an Oath, or else be Racked,  
Till the Succession they have Signed.   

6.  
Our Lofty Shrubs raised by the King,  
That on his Seat, Justice Outface,  
Must tumble down, that no such thing  
Be ever named; but with Disgrace.   

7.  
Ingrateful Brutes, base than Slaves,  
The fallen Angels is your sin,  
Who for your Makers do dig Graves;  
But in those Pits yourselves fall in.   

8.  
Foolish Achitophel's; his Fate  
Follows your Steps, and you must Die  
For the same Cause, and at the Gate,  
Where Treason's joined with Perjury.   

9  
The Protestant Religion  
Is the false cry, and common Cheat  
Of all your Atheism; who have none,  
Nor will, till brought to Judgement Seat.   

10.  
There by Confession purge your Gild,  
Mercy may meet you at the Stage,  
Tell Godfrey's Death, and what Blood's Spilt  
By your Designs, and people's Rage.   

11.  
Then, not till then, three Kingdoms may,  
In Unity give Praise to God;  
And all good men rejoice, and say,  
Charles' Sceptre is like Aaron's Rod.   

12.  
Then all true Subjects will obey,  
The wild fanatics will Conform;  
Then all the World with Us will say,  
God Saved us in a mighty Storm.   

13.  
If you deny, all thinking Men  
Conclude an Arbitrary Power,  
Designed by You, to save you, when  
Y'are no where Safe but in the Tower.    

The Mad-men's Hospital: or a present Remedy to Cure the Presbyterian Itch.  

OH, Happy Soil! unhappily possessed,  
Your Natives now invade your sacred  
And that Religion we all professed,  
Must now by Extirpation surcease: Peace;  
Our Laws are broken, Birthrights ta'en away;  
Banished or Murdered, Innocents' betray.   

2.  
This Hellbred change, hath Reformation brought  
By bold Interpretation of Text;  
What was believed, and our Forefathers taught,  
By new Dark-Lanthorn-Lights is now perplexed  
New Governments set up, the Rabble see  
A way to Rule the Church, and Monarchy.   

3.  
Oh, triple damned! Rebels to God and King!  
Who first Arms into the Roundheads hands,  
Taught them to know their Brutish strength; who bring  
A right of Levelling on all men's Lands:  
Like Hounds unhunted, left to their own Chase,  
Seize all that cross their way, Noble or Base.   

4.  
They love the King, as Schoolboy's Masters love,  
Let them do what they will; how good a man,  
Correct them, he's a Tyrant, none above  
Them, they admit, then govern them that can:  
Break up the School, a Commonwealth their cry's,  
Learning hath fooled the World, and taught us Lies.   

5.  
Thus in this wilful and presuming Age,  
Where Reason's blinded with Opinion,  
For current Truth, upheld by th' People's Rage,  
They spurn at Truth, and true Religion:  
Those Beastlike Rights, which greater beasts persuade,  
Are the false Optics of their cheating Trade.   

6.  
Poor Countrymen! the whole world's hate or scorn  
Led by a creeping Will o'th' Wisps false Fire;  
Like him to Malice, and to Mischiefs born,  
Leads you to perish in a poisoned Myre:  
Pride made the Devil, what is't made Thee so?  
Malice; so coupled, both together go.   

7.  
But tell me yet, Madmen have Intervals,  
What end do you propose, suppose your Plot  
Should take effect, that Palaces, and Halls,  
The King, the Duke, Lords, Papists, and who not  
Should in one ruin fall; what will succeed?  
Cutting of Throats, making each other bleed.   

8.  
For Jesus Christ will not descend to Reign,  
You (in his Members) crucify him here;  
In time complete, when he will come again,  
'Twill be to Your Confusion and Fear:  
Order supports the World, nothing can stand  
Without it; Beasts have Order and Command.   

9  
Those very Sects, who now together join,  
Will then divide, and each their claim advance:  
This is the Truth I hold; that lordship's mine;  
'Tis false, 'tis not, 'tis for the K. of France:  
For when that one another's Blood we draw,  
'Tis time a third should come to give us Law.  
Y'are on a Precipice, and one step more,  
Y'are lost; return, for judgement's at your door.   

10.  
Recipe.  
Take but one grain of Faith from the Rock pure,  
And fix it fast to the right Anchor-stock,  
Mixed with the Oil of Charity; 'twill cure,  
Applied to the Heart side; Probatum hoc:  
This never failed, lasts while the World endures,  
Close kept; and all Mankind's diseases cures.    

Tony's Soliloquies.  

WHen the Plot I first invented,  
I was ravished in conceit,  
To see its frame so well cementeds  
Varnished over with Deceit.  
It was an Infant of my Spirit,  
Nay, the Darling of my Soul,  
If its contrivance be a Merit,  
By Jove the Cooper did well Boul.   

2.  
For to give this Engine Motion,  
To arrive where it did tend,  
I filled the Vulgars' ears with ' Notion,  
And Gospel of my Oaten Friend;  
I antedated all Transactions,  
Distinguished Styles of New and Old,  
In the State I made such Fractions;  
Some I bought, and some I sold.   

3.  
The Mobile I so distempered,  
With the Magic of my Care,  
None but would his Soul have ventured  
Where brave Tony bore a Share;  
Have I not in Abomination  
Held the Mitre and Lawn Sleeves,  
And Itched at a second Sequestration,  
To pull down such Ghostly Thiefs.   

4.  
Have I not taught the Sanhedrim  
To Imperate, and not Obey?  
They had Genu-flection done to them,  
Which men to Crowned Heads do pay.  
Then would I Barter for Repeal  
O'th' Five and Thirtieth of Queen Bess,  
To make a way for Commonweal,  
(The Centre of Our Happiness.)   

5.  
How many hot and high Debates,  
In favour of th' Exclusive Bill,  
I bandied 'twixt the two Estates,  
(Th' effects of my depraved will!)  
By Subornation, to the Block  
I brought, a Loyal Noble Peer;  
And trusted others to that Lock,  
Which cost my Buck and me so dear.   

6.  
In fine, poor profligated Wretch,  
For to indulge my Minion Spite,  
My Seared Conscience I did stretch,  
And did Old Rowley's Guards Indict.  
I did espouse all Wickedness,  
And only loved what's purely Evil;  
In that alone was my Excess;  
Then take thy own Associate; Devil.    

The Badger in the Fox-Trap, or a satire upon Satyrs.  

COmus nor Momus, now must be my Theme,  
My Muse must mourn in a more serious strain.  
Since I, who ne'er could write to humour Men,  
To humour Beasts, must now indulge my Pen.  
One April Evening, I alone did lie,  
In my Chamber Window, some three Stories high,  
To view the prospect of the welcome Spring,  
And hear Night's Choristers their Anthems sing.  
But all those Chanting Choir soon were scared,  
By a voice unhallowed, they and I both heard.  
The more the Calm, the more the noise increased,  
Voice like a Man, but called itself a Beast.  
With Hums, and Haws, and Groans did thus begin,  
Did ever God create so Vile a thing!  
Internal and External Hoddy-doddy,  
A perfect Monster both in Soul and Body.  
Besides my Names and Titles are as Numerous,  
As all my Actions, various still, (and Humorous;)  
Some call me Tony, some Achitophel;  
Some Jack a-dandy, some old Matchivel,  
Some call me Devil, some his Foster-Brother,  
And Turn Coat Rebel all the Nation over.  
And some compare me to a sneaking Snail,  
Who keeps its Shell in storms of Wind and Hail.  
Some call me Hydra with a hundred Heads,  
And some a Monster all of Matchless Legs;  
Others the Scab from whence the Infection Breeds  
Some call me Hedgehog in a Prickly Skin,  
And that a triple Fiend is wrapped within.   

But a Badger now, caught by a Fatal snap,  
By th'longest Leg, within the Foxes Trap.  
Which here was laid for some such Animal;  
When e'er I'm freed, I surely drop to Hell.  
The more I tug, the more the Spring doth bind me,  
Nay one tug more leaves all my Legs behind me,  
My Limbs and Sinews, are so feeble grown,  
That were I lose, I cannot stand alone,  
Each member doth each others grief bemoan.  
Tho' I from God deserve this punishment,  
Why should the Devil such a Friend torment,  
Whom I have ever took for my Protector,  
And for ten thousand Souls he is my Debtor.  
Can he at last a Treacherous Guardian be,  
As I've been to all that trusted me.  
'Tis for his sake that I'm Deformed and Hist at,  
As Wizards all their Life; like Rams-horns Twisted.   

But poor Devil, now perhaps suspected me,  
That I'd Recant to get my Liberty.  
And therefure Hampers me in this Cramped Jail,  
That I have scarce room to wag my poor old Tail.  
Which I'll ne'er do, to gain three Kingd more,  
Than my Ambition, hoped to make me sure,  
Who knows what Nick hath yet for me in store?  
Poor Fiend, on me used to have tender Care, scar.  
And made me eminent in Peace & War,  
And yet I have Sense Children and Fools to  
By teaching Ben and ●ranck to Write great Lies;  
How mighty Monsters quarrel in the Skies.  
Visions at Hatfield, either White or Green,  
Far more Prodigious than the Fairy Queen.  
To make them believe the Papists still are Plotting,  
Te cut the Throats o'th' Saints whilst they are Napping.  
And that they burned the City down about us,  
As sure as I was ever Stout or Honest.  
And that they'll endeavour for to do't again,  
To lay the Land in universal Flame;  
Tho' they themselves be stifled in the Steam.  
And how to make the Neighbours hate each other  
And for Revenge to Murder one another;  
And to make a King to sell a Royal Brother.  
And to make the great ones like Pike in Pond,  
To Devour the Smaller over the Land.   

These are but pretty Symptoms of the sham's,  
When my Familiar gave but single Drams.  
But when for sickly State we do contrive,  
Oh! Roger, Roger! Oh! my Dribling side!  
Come bring a Spoon, before I am quite Spent,  
And from this Tap receive my Excrement.  
Why Roger, Harry, Tom, Will, Martha—  
Where's all the Rogues and Bitch's, some of you come forth a-  
The great Defluction of my Cankered Spleen,  
The Scum o'th' poison will not stay within,  
But drams from th' Conclave of declining parts,  
And quite obstructeth my Etherick Arts;  
Well, I keep Curs, but I'm the Dog that barks.   

Then he himself unbuckled, and let fly  
Venomous Extraction, till his Pump waxed dry.  
Which he perceiving, tugged and pumped the more  
Till all his Engines he in pieces tore,  
Then like an Ass, the Badger he did roar.  
He Snarled, and Cursed▪ and Swore he was undone,  
Exposed to the Scorn of every Mothers Son.  
Having lost the Sluice which many years had stood,  
And at his pleasure drowned the Land in Blood.  
And tho' to's ruin it made the wider Gape,  
He found himself the Faster in the Trap.  
He Haled his Limbs, which had his Soul long hated.  
But the Badger's fast, and fears he shall be baited.   

But am I now forsaken of my Friends,  
Fools, nor Knaves, Servants, nor none attends.  
Hell's damned Fiends, break off those Slavish Chains,  
Release your Friend, in these unpitied Pains.   

Where's my Companions, o'th' same Imputation  
My Fellow Sharers in the Ruin o'th' Nation.  
Where's my Cabals, and Mercenary Men,  
Where's Silly Perkin, where's Frank, Dick and Ben;  
Where's all our Senate, with their loud Debates,  
Where's our Committees, those Impish Quacks of State?  
What no Redress?  
Fiends, Furies, Goblins, Ushers of Black Shades.  
Infernal Hellhounds, I Conjure your Aids.  
Rise up and Tear my Tired Limbs asunder;  
Let me like Faustus be a second Wonder.  
Then one in Black came limping with all Speed,  
I thought the Devil had been come indeed;  
So did the Badger, and on his Tail did Squat,   Badge. 
Good Mr. Devil, do not take me yet.  Dr. 

I am no Devil, but Chief Doctor in the Synod,  
Who came from Salamanca in a Minuit.  
Let's feel your Wounds, to Cure you I will try.   B. 

Oh! Cursed R— thou'rt as foul within as I.  
What needest thou feel me Dog, thou wilt undo me,  
My Victim's gone, a man may see quite through me.  
I am passed the help of Doctor or of Devils,  
Nothing but Death, can cure these growing Evils.   D. 

But since your Distemper is so Deep and Bloody,  
And I a Doctor both for Soul and Body;  
Prepare yourself to make a True Confession,  
Be it what it will, I'll give you Absolution.  
I am not like those common sort of Priests,  
Who Absolve none but their own Silly Geese.  
I Pardon all, both— Biter, Dipper, Pendant,  
Tho' Perjury and Treason hang at the end on't.  
All sorts of Rebels, Hypocrites and Atheists,  
I Pardon all, but Cavaliers and Papists.   B. 

Some of my Sins are Forty years of Age,  
Must I bring those again upon the Stage?   D. 

Yes those to choose, they are old, and now grown Hoary,  
Shake out the Bag, and make an end o'th' Story.   B. 

But how shall I begin this great Confession?  
Which in my Soul doth make this great Impression.   D. 

Not like the Papists with a Bleared Contrition▪  
Speak boldly, with Conscience like a Tanner,  
Make every sin a Trophy of your Honour.   B. 

Why, in Forty one, and two, and three, and Four  
I then began to love a handsome W—   D. 
Very good Sir, well and how much more?  B. 

The rest are State-Affairs, not to be disclosed,  
And by Malignants, are too much supposed.  
And so all that, may well be thus Excused;  
I own I have, both Church and King abused.   D. 
But you must Specify each dubious Query,  B. 
Nay then 'twill last from June till January.  Dr. 
Well we must follow Order, Course and Form,  B. 

Plague damn the Order, I such custom scorn:  
It has been my Study, ever from my Cradle,  
To break all Formal Order, far as I was able.  
And must I now, to save an old damned Soul,  
Go disimbogue, each Cranny, Chink and Hole?   D. 

The more you own, your Crime will be the Lesser,  
Hear to your Reverend Father, and Confessor.   B. 

Profane impostor, Reverend dost thou say,  
That hast been Perjured twenty times a day;  
In Capital and Mortal Bloody Cases,  
To Murder Innocents' with thy Disgraces.   D. 

'Twas to Oblige our Sworn Fraternities,  
And to destroy the Causes subtle Enemies.   B. 

Well Dr. now I find you are much Reformed,  
Since our Cabals have Faltered and Dissolved.   D. 

'Twas still my na●●●e to S●il with the Wind;  
Come scrape the Kettle, out with what's behind.   B. 

Lord Father, you have such influence o'er me,  
I would speak all, but that you'll quite abhor me.   D. 

Oh! you little Bashsul, Old, Arch Wag,  
You know I neither dare Divulge nor Brag.   B. 

Why, in Forty three, I then began to Feel,  
Which way Dame Fortune would bring round her Wheel.  
Then I laid hold on that great Instrument,  
And left the King for K. and Parliament.  
Me they embraced, and my Advice did crave,  
Finding I'd wit enough to be a Knave.  
Then I fell on, 'gainst Church, and King and Heaven;  
And Still my Conscience with times kept Even:  
And ne'er Recanted what I Undertaken,  
Till K. was killed, and th'Son the Land forsook.  
And then the Sceptre fell in Traitors Hands,  
And I was ready to assist Commands.  
Then I was made a Minister of State,  
And found a way the Church to Extirpate.  
Then I helped Noll to set up Presbyters,  
And pulled the Bishop's Surplice o'er their ears;  
And made the Clergy look like Privateers.  
As they went down, Tub-Preachers they did rise,  
Preached Order, Altar down, and Sacrifice.  
I made him know, through States great Policy,  
Those were the men to maintain Tyranny.  
Noll being safe, by what I had done for him,  
Suspected me, 'cause I Betrayed my King.  
Then to our Tribe he openly Proclaims,  
He'd never Trust a man that had three Names,  
He Smoked my Soul from its Minority,  
Still to be Opposite to all Authority.  
Then I was forced new Measures for to take,  
With the King's Friends some small Contracts did make,  
I Begged they would with Patience be contented,  
For the Kings Return, a means was just invented  
But this was done, when I could not prevent it.  
I put myself i'th' Front o'th' Sufferers,  
Tho' like to them, I had neither Wounds not Scars.  
When he arrived with glorious Acclamations,  
And filled with Joys the Longing Expectations,  
All Loyal Hearted Souls of these three Nations.  
And every heart that had been Musket Proof,  
For K. and Country under Fortune's Roof,  
Had Broke the Fatal Spells of Slaveries,  
With Joys did meet the King upon their Knees.   

I like a Spaniel-whelp did lurk a Loof,  
And Squint quite through the Optics of my Hoof.  
Expecting when the K. on me would Call;  
And cry my Merits up above them All.  
But when I found He did mind me no more,  
Just to His Feet, I Crept upon all Four.  
Then Clutched his Royal Hand between my Paws,  
As if I'd never been for Good Old Cause.   

Then His Clemency remitted what was past,  
With Place and Title, he my Honour Graced.  
Which I improved, till I was grown so High,  
That I again did envy Monarchy.  
Which being smelled by York, I was Degraded,  
And out of all my Dignities Defeated.  
And ever since my Brain has been a working,  
For Sweet Revenge, my Soul hath still been lurking.  
To several Attempts I did aspire,  
 I could pitch on one that would take Fire.   

Till I had got this Fatal-Plot well grounded,  
With Seconds, and with sham-plots to surround it.  
Which serves as Paint upon an old Bawds Face,  
To fill up Furrows, and to give a Grace;  
As Painters always Imperfection Blaze.  
And here we'll make Friendly, Fair Conclusion,  
I prithee Doctor give me Absolution.   D. 

Nay hold a while, your Crimes but now begin Sir,  
These were but Virtues to your latter Sins Sir.  
You must rub up your Brains and Face about,  
We have the Plot-Mystick, yet to Hammer out.   B. 

G— Damn your Reverence, let that go by,  
You are as deep i'th' dirt in that as I;   D. 

Pox rot your Honour, that's a Plaguy Lie.  
You have confessed, you were the Engeneer,  
That drawed the Lines, which way the Plot would Bear;  
That who should keep the Front, and who the Rear.   B. 

And had not your Impudence still over acted,  
Our Purpose long ere this had been Perfected.   D. 

'Zounds 'twas for that, that I by you was chosen,  
'Cause I could Outface all the Truth in Heaven.   B. 

But not to Snap the Council up like Peasants,  
And call them Rascals in the Royal Presence.  
Nor yet to call the Life-Guards Popish Traitors,  
As if we were their Makers and Creators.  
Nor to throw an Odium on them at their Inns.  
When you saw our party totter like Nine-pinns  
Too late to make the world esteem us Kings.  
Nor to call Innkeepers Rogues for entertaining  
The King's Life-Guards; those things divulged our meaning.  
Nor to call yourself the Saviour of the Nation;  
As if there had been Oats from the Creation.   D. 

'S death, Have you not acted worse than this?  
You vex me so, I scarce have time to P●s●.  
You have these seven years, made it your study  
To draw disgussed Parties to a Body.  
You held Communion with Tub-Preachers juggling,  
And drawed their Brethren altogether, smuggling  
Their holy Siscers with whom they Engender,  
And bring forth Brood that's light with th' same Tinder:  
Who are bred up in ●ears and Jealousies,  
Wherewith you daily blind their purblind eyes.  
And thus you draw the hearts of silly Subjects  
From their own Sovereign, to be odious Objects:  
For this Impression in their Infancy  
Deprives them of the sense of Loyalty.  
Thus you seduce the Land for future Ages,  
To be a Den of Bruits; for wild outrages;  
Worse than wild Beasts, who still own some Supreme;  
Both Infidels and Indians do the same.   B. 

Had you this Doctrine from Salamanka,  
Where you ne'er were, I know well, Sir, I thank ye?  
You need not instance these most biting twinges,  
Since our Designs are all slung off the hinges.  
You're ten times worse, were your faults summed together,  
Tho' thou pretendest to be my Ghostly Father;  
For thou art neither Prot, ' Byter, nor Papist:  
Best thou canst boast of, is Inhuman Atheist.   D. 

You cross old Cur, resolve me these few Questions,  
And I'll importune you for no more Confessions.  
Who was the cause of Scotland's late Rebellions?  
Who promised to assist their Force with Millions?  
Who was't drawed Perkin from his Royal Father,  
To be cajoled into the People's Favour?  
Who was't contrived the drawing of Petitions;  
To gull the Nation into blind Seditions?  
Who was't contrived Cabballing in the City,  
And to school Evidence, chose a Committee?  
Who first contrived to Peach both Peers and Judges,  
And make them scape before the Bar like drudges?  
All those in eminent Places, and great Favour,  
Yet never could be brought in guilty neither?  
Who told the Commons that, 'gainst every Trial,  
They must seclude all Members that were Loyal?  
That none might ever pass for due Elected,  
Unless approved on by the disaffected?  
Who was it first that cursed Maxim moved,  
That every Act for Money be 〈◊〉,  
Unless Prerogative were squeezed ●● shoved?  
Who was't contrived to have the Gu●●ds indicted,  
When we ourselves the Cit●-Guards united?  
Who was it cried, No Money for the King,  
Till Kingly Powers into ●our hands we bring?  
Who was it cried, The King must not be trusted,  
With his own Life, while we are thus disgusted?  
And that the People they were still in danger  
Of Native Papists, and of Popish Stranger;  
Till th' Militia, Cinque-ports, Navy and the rest,  
Were all exposed unto our Care and Trust?  
Who was't that writ the Address for Shire,  
As if all had been Subscribers that were there,  
A voting for the Members, and had lear'd on't  
Thou ten in all the Number never heard on't?  
Who was it first invented the Black Box,  
And the Black Bills which were to give such knocks?  
Who was made privy unto Godfrey's Death,  
For which three men already lost their breath?  
Who was't converted Law into a Cloak,  
To shelter Knaves, and Innocents' to Choke?  
Who was't that gave the Synod Approbations,  
For to contrive Committees for Vexations,  
And made a Conventicle Synod for three Nations?  
Who gave Advice to Libel Church and State,  
And none must mind the meaning till too late,  
And the King's Friends made odious out of date?  
Who was't persuaded those turned out of Places  
Of great Authority, to make strange faces;  
And cry out Popery is now approaching;  
Tho' they before conceived no such poaching?  
Who was't gave out, that a thousand Watermen  
Had all conspired to Petition, when  
The Parliament to Oxford were convened,  
That they might sit at Westminster for them;  
But ne'er were heard of more from Smith nor Ben?  
Who was't endeavoured all that preparations,  
To guard the City Members in their stations  
To Oxford; which looked far more Arbitrary  
Than Forty One, or absolute old Harry?  
Who was the occasion of the late Obstruction  
Of the Addresses of the Cities loyal Production;  
Was't not the Canker of your Taps defluction?  
Who schooled Fitz-Harris for two years together,  
And tanned his Conscience thick as Bullocks Leather;  
And kept him for reserve to sweep the Court  
Of King and Queen, and all that them support?  
And now the Fool gins to stink for fear,  
And is in danger quite as much as we are:  
But makes such scruples to put by the Choler,  
As if he meant to hang Sir William Waller.  
Who hath influenced all this Perjury,  
Which hath outfaced both Law and Loyalty?  
Who is't that holds the Plot still by the Tail,  
As Seamen tug, to tack about their Sail;  
And now by one small breeze of Justice breath,  
Fear to be shipwra●'d to eternal Death?  
Who animated the wild Votes of late,  
To make themselves Comptrollers of the State;  
And that their Votes without concurrence might  
Impeach the Crown, or Peers in spite of Right?  
Who was't destroyed both Monarchy and Law,  
And would make it Lawful by a second blow?  
Who cried these Visions and strange Revelations,  
Tells us for Wars we must make Preparations,  
Whilst we know no danger but our own Damnation's?  
Who made the Speech burnt by the Hangman's hand,  
Which did both Threaten, and the King Command?  
In short, Who was this Hellish Plot's Contriver?  
Who was its Plaintiff-Engine; who its Driver;  
If it was You, ingeniously confessed,  
And I'll give you Absolution for the rest.   B. 

Nay, Doctor, now I find you'll not abhor me,  
For you yourself makes my Confession for me.  
Then nods and fleers, and at this Motion grins;  
These are but Title-pages of my Sins.   D. 

Nay, for the rest we'll ne'er stand to unhole,  
They're only symptom-Infects in your soul,  
Flaws of distinction between fair and foul.   B. 

Well, since I find that all my hopes are past,  
 to shake off what I pulled on so fast,  
But that I, at worst, can hang myself at last.  
Rather than live under this ill, true notion,  
After your kind Advice and friendly Caution,  
I must confess, tho' with a feigned Devotion,  
All these black Crimes which to my Charge you lay,  
And many a thousand ten times worse than they,  
Since I'm imperfect to perform the rest;  
He whispered then, and I suppose confessed;  
Thus far degenerated from a Beast.  
And then the Doctor, with his bended Chin,  
Canted some words, and so absolved his sin.  
And swore by the Holy Doom of his best Trade,  
Badger thou art Papist now, as good as e'er was made:  
By this Canonic Salamanka Gown,  
I give to thee my best Benediction.   B. 

The Badger then began to frisk and squail,  
As a Cow that's stung with Hornets in the Tail.  
Thou Popish Dog, had I but power to rally,  
I'd make thee know I hate all Christian Folly.  
But in the interval to prevent new Broils,  
Aurora risen, and all the Sequel spoils;  
Whose splendorous looks, with Phoebus in the Rear,  
Drives all Malignants to a darker Sphere,  
Their Conscience then with fear began to crack;  
The Doctor hoaled, with the Badger at his back.    

The Humble Wishes of a Loyal Subject.  

MAY Blood of Innocents' no more Disgrace  
The Stuarts Name, nor fly in Charles' Face;  
Let Tyrants wear those Stains whose due they are,  
Whilst High Born Kings the Rod of Justice bear.  
May proud Rebellious Faction tumble down,  
And haughty Freedom truckle to the Crown.  
May stubborn Peers, Pimps to a Common-weal,  
(Maugre all Ignoramus Juries) feel  
The Keen-edged Axe: May Shute and Pilkington  
And Cornish take the Law of Abbington;  
May Bethel, and such Citt Sh'risss understand  
The jerk of their own Hireling Ketch's Hand.  
May Ward Rewarded be by Them he serves,  
On the Triangle Tree, as He deserves;  
May Moor ne'er cease to stand up for the Crown  
'Gainst the Presumptuous Rabble of the Town▪  
May Ignoramus never more present  
Itself in Court until a Parliament  
Decide the Cause, how Treason justified  
May be by Ignoramus, thus denied.  
May Knaves be Banished from Your Sacred Court  
And thither none but Honest Men resort.  
May subtle Twofaced Lawyers Chat no more,  
Whether Succession be of Right, or Power:  
May YORK return Your Senators to Face,  
And justify his Highborn Princely Race.  
May Godsrey's Murderers appear on Stage,  
To Pin the Scene of this Tumultuous Age:  
May Hill and Green ne'er cease in Heaven to pray,  
Till we behold that happy welcome Day.  
May all that wish for Change of Government,  
To pull down KING, to set up Parliament,  
Like Noll and Bradshaw, Scot and Peter, be  
Rewarded for their Wicked Policy.  
May pure Rogue, Three Names, end his Aged days  
In Hempen String to his Eternal Praise;  
And Hang by Quarters o'er the City Gates,  
With Head on Tower, for his noble Feats;  
Whilst his own Zealous Bigots, passing by,  
Behold their Demi god extolled to th'Sky.  
May the Great Name of STVART now become  
mirror and Terror to all Christendom:  
Under the Name of CHARLES, may Charlémaine  
Be couched for Power, for Virtue Charlébone.    

The Polititian's Downfall; Or Potapski's Arrival at the Netherlands: And the Congratulation of the Protestant Joiner at their Meeting.  Flectere si nequeo Superos, Acheronta movebo. — Virg. 

IS Tapski Dead? Why then the Statesman lied  
Who would Immortal be and Deified.  
Strange Pride! th' exalted Lucifer is hurled  
By strong Impulse of Fate from th' Belgic World.  
The Burgomaster's ba●●●'d in's intent,  
Descends from Watery t'a Fiery Element.  
But stay! could his Vast Soul retire from hence?  
And quit the ruins of decayed sense,  
Without some Prodigy in Nature shown?  
No swinging Thunderbolt from Heaven thrown?  
No dismal Harbingers of Fate come down?  
Sure Nature slept, when Fate did strike the blow;  
No Earthquakes, no Convulsion-Fits below?  
No Star or fiery Comet in the Sky  
To Usher in this Man's Mortality?  
'Tis strange that thus in Bed he took his Nap!  
Can all the Putrid Excrements o'th' Tap  
Support the hollow Cask no longer here?  
Was't so infirm the Lees it could not bear?  
Bless me! thus free from both th' extremes,  
From Tower-Hill Sledge and Smithfield Flames,  
Serenely did he moulder into Dust,  
And Monsieur Catch he disappointed most.  
His busy, active Soul (that long was penned  
Within a Putrid, ill contrived Tenement)  
Is quietly retired; but clogged with Sin,  
And Treason, in Elysium can't get in.  
Denied his rest thus in the Seat of Bliss,  
He sinks below into the damned Abyss:  
There he roves now, and restless till he find  
Some black mouthed Villain suited to his mind.  
Blessed be his Fate! in a Dark Prison nigh,  
Old Tapski does St. Stephen there espy  
What Salutations past the Devil can tell,  
The loud Report has circulated Hell,  
Of this great Man's Arrival here to Devil.  
And here he shows State-gambol● and his Tricks,  
(For Hell and Holland love Good Politics)  
The Livery men now meet with one intent  
To Choose this Fiendlike Tapski Precedent  
The Carpenter transported, laughs to see  
His Patron brought to Hell to this degree.  
He grins with his extorted ill-looked Face,  
And makes now Devil▪ like a damned grimace,  
To see Old Tapski mounted in his Place.  
Brave Fortune sure! and if it still run even,  
Farewell our Saint, it will be Captain Stephen.  
The new State-Puppet does now Act with care,  
With damned Old wheedling Tricks, grows Popular.  
He at the Helm sits, says all things sure,  
No dismal fear of Arbitrary Power.  
Pufed and exalted thus he hates those near  
Th' affections of his Master Lucifer.  
His Soul is like as 'twas when penned in clay  
Still forming black designs for Anarcy,  
To Stab Hells well compacted Monarcy.  
He swears by Styx and A●heron to see,  
That Hell, like Holland a Republic be,  
To this the discontented Damned agree.  
In order to it this Pest of every Nation,  
Does sneakingly produce th' Association.  
The damned themselves start at the bold Adventure,  
Do there deny to seal the Indenture.  
He frets at this, yet Swea●s he'll use more Tricks,  
He'll win him with his City Politics.  
He'll buzz the Ignorant Rabble in the Ear,  
And them with's Rhetoric possess with Fear:  
Tell 'em of Jesuits Plots, and Plots forsooth,  
All which these credulous Hellhounds snap for truth.  
He bawls that Property may be secured,  
Without it all these Flames can't be endured  
Their stench says he will vex us when confined;  
We're doubly damned if once it be designed,  
That we should lose the Freedom of our mind.  
The Fundamental Laws of Subjects gone,  
When we can't range for satisfaction.  
When chained in Dungeons we are past relief,  
Resolved by stratagem, I'll be Hell's Chief:  
The Joiner with his Two Foot Rule draws near,  
Shows his fine Rareeshow 'gainst Lucifer.  
To hear his wit about him they do throng,  
And in a Lord's Apartment there 'twas Sung.  
The Joiner swears he came to this intent,  
To Square and Plain this Form of Government.  
They all Applaud this Man, a Man of parts,  
Well skilled in State, as in Mechanic Arts.  
Next him a Bull-faced Lawyer here approaches,  
And with extended Lungs the matter broaches.  
He there pleads high, makes tedious Speeches,  
Which pleased the miscreant Authors of the Breaches.  
Old Bradshaw with's great Catalogue there stood,  
Of Rebel Whelps bedaubed with Monarch's Blood;  
Tho ' twinged with pains, tormented with despair,  
Yet smile to see their Brother Tapski there.  
These Quondam Judges, Lawyers, Clerks combine  
To alter Government, and the State resine,  
To purge the Court from Councillors that are Evil.  
They're seeming kind to their own Chief the Devil.  
Thus Tapski well surrounded with his Friend's  
Republic Demons and stinking sulphurous Fiends,  
S●yly pursues his Interest and By▪ ends.  
At this the Hellish Brood begin to frown.  
They see this damned Committee're Factious grown,  
Their Principles and Practices they disown.  
But Tapski's cunning, still he laughs and leers,  
No disappointment in the matter fears.  
Infernal Government his squint Eyes view,  
But Beelz●bub its Charter will renew,  
L●st Tapski look and find a flaw in't too.  
Suspicious Members of the Lower House,  
By strong Resolves the Statesmen indispose  
From bearing Office in their Black Cabal.  
(Green Ribbon Clubs are Epidemical.)  
Tapski degraded thus! what now remains;  
What is the consequence but Links and Chains?  
A draught of liquid Brimstone 'mongst the Flames?  
Strange fate! he's seized and ●urri'd o●● th' Stage,  
And can't escape the Demons Popular Rage.  
Infernal Officers do ra●● and tear,  
And drag him into Dungeons of despair,  
'Mongst Croaking Toads and Adders he's cousin'd,  
Which is but sad diversion to his mind;  
Their dismal noise can't lull the Fiend asleep,  
They are but frightful Comforts in the Deep.  
Now Tapski racks his Brains for a release,  
And tries all methods which he thinks may Please.  
He Flatters and Collogues in hopes to gain  
Some Intervals of ease from lingering pain:  
But still his sly attempts are all in vain.  
Baffled by this his Kind, Persuasive way  
He'll vindicate himself by force of Law;  
The Hellish Precedents and Customs reads,  
And Bradshaw on his side profoundly pleads,  
To have an Habeas Corpus, this they guess,  
Will Tapski's wicked Grievances redress.  
But Pox! the learned Sophisters of Hell  
These artificial Cheats do know full well.  
The thing's denied; cast out, and in the sense  
Of Learned Men it's deemed an high offence.  
Tapski a mild recanting Paper brings;  
(He fawns still after disobliging Kings:)  
His flattering stile they jointly do refuse,  
His Tresonous Crimes admit of no excuse.  
He is impeached, to Trial he must come,  
But Tapski hopes for to divert his doom.  
If Bethel's Friends in lower Regions be,  
He doubts not but the Law will set Him free.  
He'll laugh at Malice and Infernal Furies,  
If there he finds his Ignoramus Juries.  
And there's one piked to Tapski well affected,  
But they fail now, because not well directed;  
The Pilkingtonian Sneaking Tricks detected.  
Last thus; Old Tapski's Tongue gins to falter;  
And though by Knaves he hath 'scaped th'Ax and Halter,  
Yet now lies mute, dejected and forsaken,  
And all the Accomplices of th' Treason taken.  
In deepest Dungeons are these Traitors penned,  
For thus conspiring 'gainst the Government.  
A Fury Engines new and strange provides,  
To clapperclaw and thwack his Leach'rous sides,  
They're whipped with Rods well soaked in Devils Piss:  
(That's worse than Mother ●reswel's flogging )  
They loudly roar, and grunt like Hogs in Sty,  
Have burning Sulphurous Flames to drink when dry.  
They feel the strange variety of Evils  
What's worse, they're pissed upon by Tiny Devils,  
No Habeas Corpus can these Imps remove  
From dismal Bonfires, or from burning Stove,  
For ever must they be confined to Chains  
No intermission from their horrid pains.  
Farewell Old Tapski, cursed at thy Birth,  
Thou public scorn of Hell, as well as Earth:  
Farewell Old Treason, since the Traitor now  
Is gone a Pilgrimage to Hell below.    

A Congratulation of the Protestant-Joyner to Anthony King of Poland, upon his Arrival in the Lower World.  joiner. 

Welcome, my Lord, unto these Stygian Plains;  
Welcome unto a Land where discord reigns:  
This is a Land your Lordship will approve,  
From whence these States hope you will ne'er remove.  
Welcome to These, as to the States above,  
●rom them I'm come, and this blessed News I bring,  
Discord is dead, and they have chosen you King.  
Pride, Envy, Malice, Hell would soon decay.  
Should Peace appear, and Disord fade away.   Anth. 

Thanks Friend, whoever thou art, for this blessed News,  
The Name of King I hate, yet can't refuse;  
I wish some other Name they would confer.   Joyn. 
What think you then, my Lord, of Emperor?  Anth. 

Spoke like a Roman Soul; who, though they hate  
The Name of Kings, yet Emperors create.   Joyn. 
Or, if these please not, what if you should be Dubbed of Mankind Plenipotentiary?  Anth. 

Spoke like a Non-con's Soul, that very Name  
Does all my Vitals heat, and sets my Soul on flame.  
Let me embrace, and hug thee in my Arms;  
That Hogen-Mogen word is full of Charms:  
There's Beauty in't that leads my Soul away,  
And I must follow, though I go astray,   Joyn. 

What means my Lord by that recanting Speech?  
To go astray implies 've made some breach.   Anth. 

The observation of it does imply  
You have been boiled i'th' world as well as I.   Joyn. 

'Tis true, my Lord, I aimed at mighty Things,  
To subvert Kingdoms, and to murder Kings;  
To teach the Nation to be Picts once more,  
And die their Skins with their own ●rimson Gore:  
That is the truest stain, that ne'er will out;  
Witness his Father, murdered by the Rout.   Anth. 

That's the dead-bone, which (touching) bleeds a new;  
And that's the cause I did the Son pursue:  
Like Catiline, our Mischiefs are not sure;  
But by effecting greater to secure.   Joyn. 

But since i'th' world your Taper does not shine  
●ike Damocles tho Presbyterians dine;  
The Sword of Justice trembles o'er their ●ead,  
And hangs secured but by one single thread;  
There needs no Atropos to cut the string,  
One blast of Treason more against their KING,  
Does all the Vengeance on their own heads bring.   Ant. 

You seem a Convert now, Prithee declare,  
What is your Name? From whence, and what you were?   Joyn. 

My Lord, survey this Face, and you will find  
(●ith a small recollecting of your mind)  
What my profession was, and what's my Name,  
By whom employed, from whence, and what I am.   Anth. 

I seriously observe you, but can't tell,  
You are so altered since you came to Hell;  
But guess you are a Man of no great Fame;  
Nor ever had, until of late, a Name:  
A Name, I mean, that does deserve Renown  
For Murder, or for striking at the Crown.   Joyn. 

Small Shrubs, my Lord, may tall as Cedars grow;  
What was John Leyden and Massanello?  
What was Wat Tyler and Jack Straw of late?  
And our prodigious Oliver's great Fate,  
That made all Europe shake? To such a height  
I might have rose; but Fortune owed a spite,  
And struck it home just in the nick of Time;  
And for a Throne, I did a Gallows climb.  
My Lord, you sure may know me now;—   Anth. 

I do;  
Your Name is College, and I pity you.  
But prithee tell me, for I fain would know,  
In all my journey hither, to and fro,  
I could not spy one glimmering light of Heaven;  
For all was dark, but what from hence was given,  
Only some Link-bois Skeletons did ply  
I'th' way with Lights most dreadful to the eye.  
What is the reason? For I've heard men tell  
Strange Stories, and that viewing Heaven is Hell,  
And not enjoy't; Prithee what shall I do?  
I'd give a world that happy place to view.   Joyn. 

The reason is, You did in Holland die;  
A place that to the Centre lies so nigh,  
That you're not sooner dead, but you are here;  
It is a shorter cut by half a Year:  
It lies so low, and sunk so deep i'th' Sea,  
It wants the use o'th' Primum Mobile.  
Had you in England stayed, and died as I,  
You might have clipped the Air, and reached the Sky.   Anth. 

But since I'm forced into this dark abode,  
Describe the pleasures of that blessed Road:  
I fancy that some pleasure will ensue,  
To hear that told which I shall never view.   Joyn. 

No sooner was my Soul discharged of Clay,  
But up it sprang, and pinioned quick its way;  
I passed the Orbs with wonder and delight,  
And wasn't took notice of in all my flight;  
At last, on Hean'ns' Battlements I stayed,  
And all that bright Imperian round surveyed;  
Observed how the Primum Mobile did fly  
Ten thousand times more swifter than the Fie:  
The vast Expance did all with Glory shine,  
A Gate of ●eal did on my right hand stand,  
And Peter, (as I guess, by th' Keys in's hand)  
Who opeed the door, and all pure Souls received,  
I thought to enter too, but was deceived.   Anth. 

What happiness to those blessed Souls was given!  
Who'd plague their King and Country to lose Heaven!   Joyn. 

He took me by the hand, and turned me round;  
●id me avant, for that was holy Ground:  
Yonder's your Road; down there the Angels fell  
And so must You. At which I struck at Hell;  
I or in a moment (so quick was my Fate!)  
My Head was dashed against Hell's Iron-gate,  
(Which then was shut) A wonder to the Crowd!  
Open the door! I boldly yauled aloud:  
A thundering Voice I heard; From whence? From who  
D'ye come? I straight replied I came from You  
I am a Joiner by my Trade, and come  
To sit and Wainscot up his Lordship's Room.  
At which the Gates flew : I entered in,  
Swept clean the Room of all things there but Sin;  
She must remain, and your Companion be,  
For ever, and to vast Eternity.   Anth. 

I'm mad! I rave! The Vulture gnaws my Breast!  
I would repose, but 'tis in vain to rest.  
No rest is here! My scorching Entrails burn!  
And all my Guts to horrid Snakes do turn!  
Oh, cursed Fate! that I should die so soon,  
When all my Treasons scarce did reach their Noon!  
Oh! had I but a little longer stood,  
I would have made the Nation flow with Blood:  
But I am dead; yet still I must Rebel,  
And add more Flames unto the Flames of Hell;  
I'll make grim Pluto tremble in his Throne,  
And all the Subterranean Empire groan;  
I'll make 'em drink again the bitter Cup,  
And undermine their Hell and blow 'em up.  
With that he foamed at mouth, hung out his Tongue,  
(At which a horrid ugly Scorpion hung;)  
His Eyes so hot did glow, made Fiends admire;  
And burned so fierce, as Hell itself cried Fire;  
But a shagged Fiend appeared, and in a trice  
Hurled his hot Soul into a Hell of Ice.  
Where may each Traitor, that their King's control,  
Fined his Estate entailed upon their Soul.    

The King of Poland's Ghost: Or a Dialogue betwixt Pluto and Charon, upon his Reception.  Pluto. 
HOld Stygian Sculler, what hast brought me here?  Charon. 
The Soul, Sir, of your long-wished noble Peer.  Pl. 
What? not the King of Poland's?  Ch. 
Yes 'tis it:  Pl. 

You old Tarpawlin, will you ne'er learn Wit?  
Who bid you touch at Dantzick and be hanged,  
D' ye think my Furies long to be harangued?   Ch. 

Stop the mistake, and let your Passion cease,  
He ne'er came there, for Poland's still in Peace;  
But I supposed you waited for your Prey,  
And therefore Amsterdamed in his way.   Pl. 

Pox on your Zeal, you did it for your Fare,  
Couldst think I want Incendiaries here?   Ch. 

No, no, Sir; I have Passengers enough  
That spoke their Places, and gave Earnest too?  
And though y'had Boute▪ ●eu's enough before,  
Yet such as This ne'er touched th' Infernal Shore:  
Scylla, Sejarus, Catiline and Noll,  
Must give our Politician the Wall.  
They, cruel wretches, sought Imperial sway  
Py Fire and Slaughter, ours a milder way.  
They fought e'en like your Furies for a Crown,  
He by Petitions softly bowls it down.  
King's may be felled, and never hurt a Limb,  
And Pluto's self fall gently under him.  
But Sir, you're safe, for e'er he came at Styx,  
He drew and racked off all his Politics.   ●l. 

I can't tell that, Cooper's are cunning blades,  
We Devils scarce can dive into their Trades;  
The Lees of one rich Pipe may ferment more,  
And I am plaguy loath to lose my Power.   Ch. 

Fie ●luto! y'are too jealous of your Pee●,  
He that hath been your Drudge this 50 year;  
If you begin to slight old Servants thus,  
'Twill be a great Discouragement to Us.   ●l 
Why didst not take Elysium in thy way?  Ch. 

Why Sir, the Keeper feigned he'd lost his Key;  
And would not slip the Lock for all my Prayers;  
I touched besides at Purgatory Stairs,  
(The Trimmers office as some term it well,  
Because it squints both toward Heaven and Hell)  
But 'twould not do, Pl. No? what could they object?  
He seems the very Founder of the Sect.  
Changed 'Tis true; but they urged, 'twas like an Inn  
Where Folks a while were baited for their Sin,  
Then like cured Lunatics turned out again.  
And they alleged, my Charge was past all cure,  
And nothing in the world was e'er said truer;  
For 'tis not all the Saints in Heaven and Earth,  
Were he once in, could ever pray him forth.  
Pl. Well Charon, I forgive thee, for I see  
Thou speakest both for thy Client and thy Fee:  
But how stand Causes on the British Shoar,  
Since they have lost the Bauble they adore.  
Cham Why they resent it in a various way,  
And some there are who do not stick to say,  
That the Elm-board foregroaned this fatal day.  
That th' Albion Rocks relent, and change their hue  
And even Tyburn puts on Mourning too▪  
Your dear Friend Titus clothes himself in Crape,  
(Masculine Titus) your outdoing Ape,  
Who's got above the Dispensation of a feeble Rape.  
Other's there are who are not troubled much,  
But rather seem beholding to the Dutch;  
For this one kindness they to Britain do,  
Commutes for Chattam and Am●●●na too.    

The Countryman's Complaint and Advice to the KING.  

WE only can admire those happy times  
Of Innocence, unskilled in Laws & Crimes,  
When Gods were known by Blessings owned by Prayer,  
And 'twas no part of Worship for to Swear:  
Clearer than Fountains, and more free than those,  
Impartial Truth they all to each disclose.  
To hear and to believe were strictly joined,  
And Speech thus answered what it first designed.  
But Oh unhappy State of Humane kind!  
Nought dreadful now our Awe, or Faith can bind  
Vows and Religions are but bare pretence,  
Oaths are found out to shackle Innocence,  
And Laws must serve a Perjured Impudence.  
Tumults address for Blood, Witness for Hire deceives,  
And Judge is forced to Sentence what he ne'er believes.  
All Truth and Justice, blushingly withdraw,  
Leaving us nothing but the Form of Law:  
Whereby Rogues profligate and hardened in their Vice  
Proscribe all Loyal men, as Factions raise their  
Poor Land! whose Folly to swift Ruin tends,  
Despised by Foes, un-aided by its Friends.  
In vain does Heaven her Fiery Comets light,  
We stifle th'Evidence, and still grope in night:  
Baffled by Fools, betrayed by perjured Knaves,  
Rather than Subjects, we'll be branded Slaves:  
And by a vain pursuit of airy Bliss,  
Forfeit substantial real Happiness;  
Change Monarchy (from all Oppression free)  
Religion, and its Native Purity,  
True Freedom, without lawless Liberty:  
For thousand Masters, worst of Tyranny,  
For frantic Zeal, formal Hypocrisy,  
For Licence to rude rabble's, Hell and Slavery.  
And all this wrought by old known Cheats and Rooks,  
Gods! to be twice Cajoled by Cants and Looks!  
So●s, worse than Brutes, to run into that Net  
We see, and know for our destruction set!    

To the KING.  

A Rise, O thou once Mighty Charles, arise,  
Dispel those mists that could thy piercing Eyes;  
Read o'er thy Martyred Father's Tragic Story,  
Learn by his Murder, different ways to glory.  
How fatal 'tis, by Him is understood,  
To yield to Subjects, when they thirst for Blood,  
And cloak their black Designs with Public Good.  
As thou art Godlike by thy Pity, show  
That thou art Godlike by thy Justice too:  
Lest we should count thy greatest Virtue, Vice,  
And call thy Mercy, servile Cowardice.  
Of old, when daring Giants scaled the Sky,  
The King of Gods ne●e laid h●s Thunder by,  
To hear Addresses for their Property.  
But quelled His Rebels by a stroke Divine,  
And left example how to deal with Thine.    

Advice to the CARVER.  

BRing me a Man with animating Strokes,  
Whose pregnant Steel gives Life to formless Rocks;  
Stone now must speak, since humane Race is grown,  
In Heart and Brain more dull and hard than Stone.  
Carver thou must erect with learned Toil  
To Truth and Innocence a sacred Pile:  
Marble and Brass are Elements too frail,  
From Age to Age these Records to entail.  
Some harder Metal should employ thy Art,  
Than Pharaoh's or our Judges stony Heart.  
From the deep Quarries of Immortal Truth,  
Dig out Materials to outlive the Tooth  
Of eating Fame, and gnawing Calumny,  
Whilst Envy and her Snakes drop off and die,  
And raise our Heroe's Monumental Shrine  
When Earth and Stars give off to shine,  
Which the last Fire may burnish and refine.  
First Carver, Let thy speaking Marble tell  
How the dire Monster Perjury from Hell,  
When first he raised his Head, and saw our Light,  
Nature gave back, and trembled at the sight.  
Comets his Eyes, Curled Adders were his Hair,  
Nothing of Poison can with Theirs compare.  
Couched in his Lips a Brood of Aspics lay,  
To all his Words their Venom these convey.  
His Tongue's a Two-edged Sword in Lawyer's hand,  
Whose double stroke no Innocence can stand.  
His Hands are gored in Blood, like Vulture's Claws,  
The Engines of his Murders are the Laws;  
A! Holy Justice vindicate thy Cause:  
No longer let this Monster Triumph thus,  
And make thy Sacred Courts his Slaughter-house.  
A Belt he wore, on which the Imbroiderer wrote  
The History of the Hellish Popish Plot,  
A Bunch of Snakes made up the Shoulder Knot.  
At his Belts end a mighty Budget hung,  
Where Narratives and Informations throng,  
Letters, Commissions, Infinite were there,  
Were there, for no where else did they appear.  
All stuffed with Treasons of the largest Size,  
Armies to raise, and in Rebellion rise.  
●i●y and ●eet to burn, destroy the KING,  
Under a ●orr●ign Yoke our Land to bring.  
These Poisoned Arrows, ready for the Day  
O● Battle, in our Monster's Quiver lay.  
Such was his Natural Hue, and Proper Arms;  
But when he ranged abroad by Magic Charms,  
So changed a Shape to Vulgar Eyes he wore,  
That whom they should Abhor they do Adore.  
Of Pure Rebellion over his Head they put  
A Solemn Veil of the Geneva Cut.  
Thus all his Ghastly Countenance did shade,  
And a False Saint of a True Devil made.  
Next on his Shoulder dangled to his Knee,  
A Cloak of Presbyterian Loyalty.  
Thus safely covers Hell itself, and draws  
The People's Admiration and Applause.  
Cursed be that Loyalty in Style Submiss,  
In Action Treasonable, like Judas Kiss;  
That does in humble Phrase their Sovereign woe,  
He'll graciously be pleased, Himself t' undo;  
Of all Prerogatives to strip the Crown,  
And for His Safety's sake, His Power lay down.  
To quit His useless Guards, that so He may  
Gently become Theirs and the People's Prey.  
If this is denied, than the Great Guns must Roar  
Of Popish Plots, and Arbitrary Power.  
Then must his Friends, his Wife and Brother fall,  
A Heccatomb to Hypocritick Gall.  
What follows needs no Prophet to reveal,  
A Late Experience does too sadly tell.   

Carver it now thy boldest Stroke will ask,  
To Trace this Monster in his Loyal Mask:  
How first he Crept, who now so high does Sore,  
And Stole in at the Cranny of a Door,  
Like a young Sinner checked with Doubt and Fear,  
Bashful and Timorous his Beginnings were;  
But silent Awe did not restrain him long,  
For soon the Speechless Elf ●ound out a Tongue,  
A Tongue who to a mighty Statesman's Ear,  
With great Success our Monster did prefer;  
A Tongue which now with Dives may recant  
In vain, and Cooling Drops for ever want.  
At first our Statesman wavered to and fro,  
Fearful to hold him fast, or let him go,  
Under the Veil of Zeal and Loyal Cloak,  
The Fiend beneath he easily did Smoak;  
But judging that his outward Shape and Dress,  
The Genius of our Nation would higly please,  
At last he chose to entertain the Elf,  
And let poor Naked Truth shift for itself.  
This he conceived old Grudges would atone,  
Make People, King, and Parliament his own.  
This would Raise Money, this would Armies Pay;  
But these false hopes scarce lived a Winter's day.  
For soon the Pampered Beast unruly grew,  
And in the Face of his own Keeper flew:  
And Breaking lose, with his Departing Heels  
Gave him a Bruise, which still the Patient feels.  
Now did that other Monster, Lying Fame,  
Her Brother Saint, the Nation round proclaim,  
And every Weak and every Factious Breast, down,  
With this Infernal Spirit is possessed.  
Some with large Swallow, take his Words all  
And the Romance as a Fifth Gospel own.  
Others for want of ●aith with noise supply,  
And this Diana greet with loudest Cry.  
All the High places of the Land is stored  
With Altars, where this Moloch is adored.  
In Church, in Court, in every Justice-seat,  
All It with Incense and Prostration greet.  
This Idol's Unclean Worship prostitutes  
The House of Prayer, and Prayer itself pollutes,  
The very Streets their impious Homage pay,  
And with  Offerings convert Night to Day.  
'Tis not the Blood of Beasts that can assuage,  
This All devouring Moloch's hungry Rage.  
In his Infernal Rights there is allowed,  
No other Sprinkling but of Humane Blood.  
Victims and Temples too must feel the Knife,  
The Living Temples of the God of Life.  
Nor Bodies only will his Rage suffice,  
A Nation's Souls are now his Sacrifice.  
Thrice happy they who with clean Hands and Heart  
Act in his Tragedy the Victims part.  
Who in White Robes follow their Chief the Lamb,  
In all his Thorny paths of Death and Shame:  
Who Dying feel no other Grief and Pain,  
But for the Gild of those by whom they're slain,  
Who march the safest and the shortest way  
To Blissful Canaan through this Purple Sea.   

Next Carver, thy Recording Steel must show  
The Monster joined with his Confederate Crew.  
Scouring our Coasts, and Ravaging our Land,  
Whilst no opposing Power his Shock can stand.  
As if the Nation were by angry Heaven,  
To his Dire Rage in Execution given.  
Thy Piece this general Slaughter may dispose,  
By lessening Distance artfully to lose.  
But in the Front of the main Work, thy hand  
In solid Brass must make our Hero stand,  
Stand gloriously in his Immortal Shrine,  
Which neither Rust shall Eat, nor Age shall Mine,  
And shall outlive all but their Gild and Hell,  
By whose Conspiring Perjury first He fell.  
Yet to be just, Great Soul, we must allow,  
Thou all thy Glories to their Crimes must owe.  
Life's to thy Parents for Illustrious Birth,  
Which is but a Portion of Nobler Earth.  
Art thou in Debt then to the Monsters Rage,  
By which with Heaven's Applause thou left'st the Stage.  
Stafford's great Name in old Records did sleep,  
And lay regardless among the Common Heap;  
With Dust and Rubbish almost covered over,  
Thy Setting Sun its Lustre does restore,  
When ever fair Astraea shows her Face,  
And Slow-paced Truth shall Factious Rage displace,  
It will be said of thy old Norfolk Line,  
Some with their Blood are stained, and others shine.   

Carver, to Sacred Truth this work we vow,  
Thy Chissel must no flattering Touches know;  
Nor Common Actions raise, nor Vices screen,  
Show him but where the Hero does begin.  
And yet the failing of our Lives past Race,  
Exalt the Power and Victory of Grace.  
There trace him first where 'twas his happy Fate,  
To be thought worthy of the Monster's hate.  
The surest Mark of the Almighty's Love,  
Is when the Powers of Hell against Us move.  
Show him Accused, Imprisoned and Oppressed,  
There was he first for Heaven's Militia pressed;  
Then was he Trained and Disciplined for War,  
A War in which the Slain, the Conque●o●s are.  
Then did his Thoughts true Liberty possess,  
His Body's Seizure was his Souls Release.  
Next lead him from the Prison to the Bar,  
The Place of Combat, and the Sea● of War;  
Bring through all the Barbarous Noise and Shout  
Of an Insulting and Blood thirsty Rout:  
Nearly allayed in Manners, Cause and Cry,  
To that old Tribe that bellowed, Crucify.  
But these harsh Sounds were Music to his Ear,  
Whose Christian Heart knew neither Gild nor fear;  
Now in the Circle of a Theatre,  
All England did Epitomised appear:  
Each in their several Ranks themselves diffuse,  
The Peers to Try, the Commons to Accuse:  
Lawyers to Plead, Witnesses to Swear,  
People to gaze, Ladies to see and hear.  
But this Assembly shall hereafter know,  
GOD and his Angels were Spectators too.  
With awful Pomp here Justice seemed enthroned,  
The Sword she bore, the Balance was postponed.  
Ah Carver, had thy Steel the force to raise,  
From Fates Eternal Book these Leaves of Brass,  
This dismal Scene of Horror we'd expunge,  
Which did in Gild of Blood a Nation plunge;  
For who false Oaths so easily believe,  
Their Crime resemble those who stolen Goods receive,  
And through such light Belief if Blood be spilt,  
No Forms of Justice can wipe off the Gild.  
What Cause in this Corrupted Age is tried,  
That ever wants an Oath on either side.  
Judges themselves their way can hardly see,  
Through the thick Mists of growing Perjury.  
Shall Oaths for Goods and Land be laid aside,  
And all received where Men for Life are Tried?  
Shall neither Profit, Malice, nor ill Fame,  
Nor Counter-proofs bate this devouring Flame?  
Can nothing but Heaven's Judgements make it known?  
How Earth with Blood and Perjury does groan?  
Now with loud Summons, signal of the War,  
The Crier calls our Prisoner to the Bar.  
Some previous Storms and Skirmishes passed over,  
The Charge gins, and the great Ordnance roar:  
The Monster from his Battery raised on high,  
A Thundering Peal of Mortal Oaths let fly,  
Whilst from the Lawyer's Throats in fatal sound  
In loud repeating Echoes does rebound.  
Since first the Monster touched in English Land,  
He and the Gownsmen went still hand in hand.  
Who in a formidable League combined,  
To drive All before them, and run down Mankind.  
'Tis true the Gospel and the Law reveal  
The ways to future Bliss, and present Weal:  
But when ill Acts convert them to a Trade,  
They Guard not, but our Happiness Invade.  
As Labouring Men their Hands, Criers their Lungs,  
Porters their Backs, Lawyers hire out their Tongues.  
And vilest are those Hirelings who abuse,  
Their Calling to the most destructive Use:  
A Tongue to Gain and Hire accustomed long,  
Grows quite insensible of Right or Wrong,  
And true and false with them is Cross and Pile,  
The Winning side is only worth their while.  
And of that Tribe some Tongues no less are gored,  
With Blood of Innocents', than Herod's Sword.  
The Breath of Lawyers and of People's Minds  
Are like the yielding Waves, and blustering Winds▪  
Each Mobile its Driver does obey,  
These Tempests raise by Land, as those by Sea:  
And so the Crowd to whose discerning Skill,  
The greatest Cry is Demonstration still.  
Second the Charge with Hums and rude Applause,  
And on the Monster's side pre-judge the Cause.  
Alas of Peers themselves, this high Degree,  
From this contagious Frenzy is not free!  
That generous Blood which Nobler Veins doth fill,  
No Faction should inflame, no Fear should i'll,  
They in a higher Region placed, should know  
None of those Popular Storms, which rage below;  
But should with serene Thoughts and Courage bold,  
And with Impartial Hand the Balance hold:  
Yet like those Peers of Heaven we find of late,  
Too many fallen from their Exalted State;  
And from Attendance on the Highest Throne,  
To serve a factious Populace sunk down.  
But still the Fall of the Apostate Band,  
Makes for their Glory who with firmness stand.  
Truth will to both be just, Angels that fell  
The first Distinction made of Heaven and Hell.   

Now Carver, with some likeness to express  
Our Hero greater still in his Distress,  
Proving the Storms, standing the rudest shock,  
Thy work requires something more firm than Rock;  
Of bloody Slanders, who undaunted can  
The deadly Shock endure, is more than Man.  
Nothing of Sublunary Growth, or Make,  
Of that Immortal Temper can partake.  
We learn this Lesson only from the Chair,  
Where God and Man jointly Professors are.  
No less a Master could make understood  
A Doctrine so averse to Flesh and Blood.  
Thus taught, our Champion perfect in his Roll  
Did honour to his Master and his School;  
For with such Calm of Mind and Air serene,  
As in white Innocents' is only seen;  
He saw his Life by bloody Oaths atacked,  
And the dire Charge by a whole Nation backed.  
He saw his Honour and himself run down,  
By horrid Hellish Crimes, but none on's own.  
Their Crimes they only were who swore them so,  
And who those Oaths so lightly did allow.  
It was not to find out Truth they thither came,  
But like keen Huntsmen to run down the Game.  
For with design all was so aptly squared,  
Their Tackling and their Tools so well prepared,  
The Oaths were all so positive and home,  
That for the Lawyer's Skill they left no room.  
They ran at ease, and hardly did blow for't,  
For never yet did a false Oath swear short.  
Our Prisoner wanted not in his Defence  
Proofs of their Gild, and his own Innocence.  
But from such lies what Pleading can relieve,  
Which some invent, some swear, and most believe.  
When byased Minds Faction or Fear does fill,  
They judge not by their Reason, but their Will.  
All on the Favoured side they Gospel call,  
And on the Other side all is Apocryphal.  
But on these Judges heavy Judgementsly,  
Who use false Weights when Life and Death they try,  
And the deciding Balance hold a wry.  
Now from the Fatal Urn the Lots are cast,  
Judgement of Death is on our Hero past.  
Some when they found him Guilty, wept, but still  
They did like Crocodiles, both Weep and Kill;  
And the Inhuman Verdict to Disguise,  
As Pilate washed his Hands, they washed their Eyes.  
More at the Bar than Block, at H'estminster,  
Than on Tower-Hill: suffered our guiltless Peer.  
A just Regard must of those few be had,  
(The Good are still outnumbered by the Bad.)  
Who yielded not to Factions swelling Tide,  
But followed Truth, though on the weaker side,   

Carver, in Living Brass inscribe their Name,  
As some atonement of our Nation's Shame.  
Tell future Time how manfully they stood,  
And durst in such an Age as Ours be Good.  
Thus of their Glory will thy Work partake,  
But of the Adverse Part no mention make.  
Heaven's Retribution will more fully tell  
Which did in Honour, which in Gild, Excel.  
The time is come for Divine Power to show,  
When Nature is too weak, what Grace can do.  
No greater Load on Innocents' can lie,  
Than for a Crime so Infamous to die.  
And yet more Unconcerned than others Give,  
He does the Sentence of his Death Receive.  
Of all the Law inflicts, that only Part  
Which touched his Wife and Children, touched his Heart;  
Nothing but their Undoing raised his Fears,  
His Death in them a Massacre appears.  
But Heaven's Elixir can our sharpest Pains  
Convert to Joy, to Liberty our Chains.  
Can Glory reap where Infamy is sown,  
Turn Death to Life, our Cross unto a Crown?  
Thus in his Carriage none the Marks could see  
Of a Defeat, but signs of Victory.  
He marched with such Assurance from the Bar,  
As Conquering Generals from a Prosperous War.  
His seeming Friends thought it not yet too late,  
(Since Nature on their side was Advocate)  
With the strong Baits of Life, and an Access  
Of Wealth and State, to draw him to confess.  
To all the vain Suggestions on their side,  
Our Christian Hero thus in short replied:   

My Age no less doth give me than the Doom,  
So near a Prospect of the World to come,  
That 'ttwere a foolish Bargain to Redeem  
With an Eternal Slain my Inch of Time:  
By that of others I shall choose to Die,  
Rather than live by my own Perjury.  
If I confess the Plot my Life's my own,  
Then welcome Death, with all its outward Shame,  
It is my Joy that I Truth's Martyr am.  
One would believe by all this mighty Strife,  
You value more the Plot, than the KING's Life.  
For the First's sake, the Last you can forgive;  
But no Denyers of the Plot must live:  
Nor Conscience nor my Honour will Dispense,  
That I should Murder my own Innocence.  
And rather than I falsely will expose  
The Lives of Guiltless Men, my own I'll lose.   

Their Art or Friendship was amazed to find,  
So great a Calm and Constancy of Mind;  
And when they found eluded every Bait,  
They gave him up to his own Sullen Fate.  
But as to Christ, into the Desert led  
The Tempter vanished, Angels did succeed,  
So did our Hero's Soul (this Combat passed)  
An Earnest of Heavens Joys begin to taste.  
On GOD spent all his Thoughts, on Prayer his Breath,  
To his new Purchase he so longed to go,  
And take Possession, that Death seemed too slow.  
That Tragic Scene to every Eye but his,  
That Day of Gild to some, to Him of Bliss,  
At last appears, and Swarms of People crowned  
The Fatal Hill, for Noble Blood renowned.  
Of different Temper each his Pleasure finds,  
Part come with Curious, Part with Cruel Minds:  
Some only in the Strangeness of the Sight,  
Others in the Butchery and his Blood, delight.  
Poor Animals! how Savage and how Blind,  
They want the Eyes and Bowels of Mankind.  
And now to Them and Him the welcome Hour,  
Summons our Noble Prisoner from the Tower,  
As some East-Indian Carack homeward bound,  
Of Earth's vast Globe having gone all the round,  
Twice cut the Line, and with bold Canvas run  
Beyond the Limits of its Rival Sun,  
Making to its Native Port, the Cheering Gale  
With Joy each Heart, with Wind fills every Sail:  
So does our Hero, now from Storms released,  
Move to the Scaffold as his place of Rest.  
Heaven this last Favour does to him afford,  
To tread the Footsteps of his Dying LORD:  
In whom live all his Hopes, die all his Fears,  
By whom Tower-Hill, Mount Calvary appears.  
On his Great Leader in his Dying State,  
He hopes in Glory, as in Death to wait;  
And that his Blood, for Crimes pretended, spilt  
Of his True Sins may cancel all the Gild.  
The Scaffold Steps, did Jacob's Ladder seem,  
The Scaffold was a Monarch's Throne to him:  
And with such Joy he did resign his Breath,  
As other Mortals save themselves from Death;  
For those who caused his Death, was his last Prayer,  
And his last Words his Innocence declare.  
Stafford farewell: May thy Pacifick Blood,  
Of Crimes and Judgements stop the Raging Flood.  
Our Blindness cure, and by a holy Charm,  
Of its Dread Thunder, Angry Heaven Disarm.  
In vain their Bloody Gild some strive to screen  
With Forms of Law, and Oaths of Perjured Men.  
What weak Excuse, how slight those Fig-leaves are,  
Christ and his Martyrs, and King Charles declare.  
Judge on which side disputed Truth mustly,  
All swear, these swear and live, these swear and die,  
In vain your Babble of a Plot you boast,  
'Gainst Heaven and Truth, your Labour will be lost.  
No more your fancied Deluge can prevent,  
Which must with Blood and Perjury cement.  
Already 'mongst the workmen by just Doom  
Of Jarring Tongues the old Confusion's come.  
Heaven's Beacons lighted in a Blazing Star,  
Too sure a signal of Impending war!  
This Corrupt Mass away itself will purge,  
And all by Turns will be each others Scourge.  
Then with his gaul's should Brennus hither roll,  
How will your Geese protect your Capitol.  
The name of TITUS will hereafter sound,  
As once in Palestine, on British Ground:  
A Perjured Tongue like Records will afford,  
Of Slaughters here as there the Victor's Sword,  
I wish Repentance may their Eyes Unseal,  
And from their hardened Hearts remove the Steel,  
And that the Victims of their Cruelty,  
As Martyr's Blood Pacifick Hosts may be.  
God may for them men's Prayers receive,  
When they the Prayers of Dying men believe.  
But if their poisoned Hearts they will obdure,  
For such Malignity Heaven has not Cure.  
Now Carver, thy Instructed Chissel may,  
To the rude Stones their proper Forms convey.  
His Glorious Image better Light will give,  
To make thy Labours and these Numbers live▪  
All other Hero's of a lesser Rate,  
Own to the Poets their Immortal State.  
That lasting green they from their Laurels take,  
Which does the freshness of their Glory make.  
But our high Theme this order does reverse,  
For now the Subject will Embalm the Verse,  
Which as the Shadow on the Sun doth wait,  
Will justly, though obscurely Him relate:  
And in that Noble Office shall outlive  
These worst of Times, and Time itself survive.    

Shaftsbury's Farewell: Or the New Association.  

GReatest of Men, yet Man's least Friend, farewell;  
Wits Mightiest, but most Useless Miracle;  
Where Nature all her Richest Treasures stored,  
To make one vast unprofitable Hoard:  
So High as thine no Orb of Fire can roll,  
The Brightest, yet the Most Eccentric Soul;  
Whom midst Wealth, Honours, Fame, yet want of ease,  
No Power could e'er oblige, no State could please;  
Be in thy grave with peaceful slumbers blest,  
And sinned Thy whole Life's only Stranger, Rest.  
Oh, Shastsbury! had thy Prodigious Mind!  
Been to Thyself, and thy Great Master kind,  
Glory had wanted Lungs thy Trump to blow,  
And Pyramids had been a Tomb too low.  
Oh that the World (Great Statesman) ere should see  
Nebuchadnezzar's Dream fulfilled in Thee!  
Whilst such low Paths led Thy Great Soul astray,  
Thy Head of Gold moved but on Feet of Clay.  
Yes, from Rebellions la●e Inhuman Rage,  
The Crimes and Chaos of that Monstrous Age,  
As the old Patriarch from Sodom flew,  
So to Great CHARLES His Sacred Bosom Thou;  
But Oh! with more than Lot's Wives fatal Fault,  
For which she stood in Monnmental Salt.  
Though the Black Scene Thy hasting Foot-step flies,  
Thy soul turns back, and looks with longing Eyes.  
Ah, Noble Peer, that the Records of Fame  
Should give ●rostratus and Thee One Name;  
Great was his bold Achievement, Greater Thine,  
Greater, as Kings than Shrines are more Divine;  
Greater, as vaster Toils it did require  
T'inflame Three Kingdoms, than One Temple fire,   

But where are all those blust'ring Storms retired,  
That roared so loud when Oliver Expired?  
Storms that rend Oaks, and Rocks asunder broke,  
And at his Exequys in Thunder spoke.  
Was there less cause, when Thy last Doom was given,  
To waken all the Revelers of Heaven?  
Or did there want in Belgia's humble Soil  
A Cedar fit to fall Thy Funeral Pile?  
No; Die, and Heaven th' Expense of Thunder save,  
Hushed as Thy own Designs, down to Thy Grave.  
So hushed may all the Portents of the Sky  
With Thee, our last great Comet's Influence die:  
May this One Struck our lowering Tempests clear,  
And all the Fiery Trigon finish here.  
With Thee expire the Democratick Gall;  
Thy Sepulchre and Lethe swallow all:  
Here end the poison of that viprous Brood,  
And make Thy Urn like Moses' wondrous Rod;  
So may Our Breaches close in Thy One Grave,  
Till Shaftsbury's last Breath Three Nations save;  
And dying thus, t'avert His countries' Doom,  
Go with more Fame than Curtius to His Tomb.   

But is he dead! How! Cruel Belgia, say!  
Lodged in thy Arms, yet make so short a stay!  
Ungrateful Country! Barbarous Holland Shoar!  
Could the Battavian Climate do no more!  
Her Shaftsbury's dear Life no longer save!  
What? a Republic Air, and yet so quick a  
Oh! all ye scattered Sons of Titan weep,  
This dismal day with solemn Mournings keep;  
Like Isral's Molten-Calf your Medals burn,  
And into Tears your Great Letemur turn;  
Oh! wail in Dust, to think how Fates dire frown  
Has thrown your dear Herculean Column down.   

Oh, Charon! waft thy Load of Honour o'er,  
And land Him safely on the Stygian Shoar:  
At His Approach, Fame's loudest Trumpet call  
Cromwell, Cook, Ireton, Bradshaw, Hewson, all,  
From all the Courts below, each well pleased  
All the Republic Legions numerous Host,  
Swarm thick, to see your Mighty Hero land,  
Crowd up the Shoar, and blacken all the Strand;  
And, whatever Chance on Earth, or Powers accursed,  
Broke all your Bonds, your Holy Leagues all burst:  
This Union of the Saints no Storm shall sever,  
This Last ASSOCIATION holds for ever.    

Dagon's Fall: Or Sir William Waller turned out of Commission.  

GOod GOD! what means this sudden Alteration!  
The Fop that has so long disturbed the Nation,  
By's Pride, and Pomp, and Power, is now Turned out,  
And hardly pitied by the silly Rout.  
He was as stout, and lofty as old Hector,  
Usurped the Power of our damned Protector;  
As Fierce and Cruel as a Tyger's whelp,  
He wanted neither strength, nor art, nor help  
To do and undo; he was grown so great,  
That the Creation was amazed to see't.  
He had his Coach and Horses, Footmen too,  
And into th' City road, to make a show;  
But little thought when drawn by Whitaker  
His fatal downfall it had been so near▪  
To put a Sword into a Madmans' hand,  
It may make Bloody Work within the Land.  
Papists and Protestants were all alike,  
Both sent to lodge with Church and thin-jawed Dyke.  
No Day scarce passed without some mischief done,  
Into all Companies the Fool did run.  
The Gaoler sure gave him a snack of Fees,  
For Prisoners flocked even like a Swarm of Bees.  
Here Ten were sent him for a Popish Plot,  
There Two more to please a Buggering Sot.  
Then a New Plot is feigned, and more secured,  
'Uds flesh, my Friends, this cannot be endured!  
Printers, Apprentices, and many more,  
In all I do believe near twice two score.  
They all are Plotters, yet by Jove not one,  
Can tell you what was said, or what was done.  
The Gatehouse is become a Babel now,  
Confusions came upon us none known how,  
But he that wrought the Mischief now is found,  
'Twill puzzle any man to prove him sound.  
He's rotten at the Heart I'll lay my Life,  
No wonder he begot us all this Strife.  
Well, now the Cause is gone, the effect will cease,  
I hope we shall enjoy our former Peace.  
This Leaven leavened the whole Lump,  
And made us fear another saucy Rump.  
He studied out new Plots, and for what ends?  
Only to please his Presbyterian Friends.  
Ah but my Friend, thou thy last Dice hast thrown,  
For which the Presbyters begin to groan,  
Thy busy active Soul (I do not jest)  
Had lately sent it a Quietus est.  
And that which doth thy Grief and Sorrow double,  
Thou art not Rich for all thy needless trouble  
Soul take thine ease, thou very well may'st sing.  
For thou hast got a Writ of ease from th'King:  
Thou hast much Goods laid up for many years,  
Say that, and I will give thee both my E●●s.  
Leave but the Factious out, go through the City,  
Thou wilt not find a Man inclined to pity.  
Hang him cries one, he was a busy Knave,  
He showed no Mercy, nor he none shall have.  
Mischief was all his aim, and his design,  
When he brought Hickey to a glass of Wine.  
The mischief which so eagerly he sought  
For others, he himself too dearly bought:  
But I am almost weary of my Rhimes,  
For I consider these are Traitorous Times.  
Had but this busy Fool his late Commission,  
This would have cost me a devout Submission;  
I had been surely sent to Goal for Treason  
As Thompson was, and had a greater Reason▪  
But God be thanked curst-Cows have short Horns,  
He must and shall endure our Flouts and Scorns.  
We may go boldly on, and fear no fall;  
No painted Staff will answer at his Call.  
Now he is down, down with him, now's the Season;  
For if he rise he'll Goal us all for TREASON.    

A Dialogue betwixt the Devil and the Ignoramus Salamanca Doctor.  Devil. 

Behold from the Infernal Lake I'm come,  
To fright thy Soul to its Eternal Doom:  
To tell thee, Villain, that thy Reign's expired,  
And now be sure thou shalt no longer hired  
●e by Me, no, nor any of the Damned,  
To drench in Innocent Blood this mournful Land.  
Hence then begun, and do no more pursue  
Villainies Hell could ne'er act, but by you:  
Now Heaven stops my Power, and I thy Hand,  
And now I tell thee, Doctor, Thou art damned.   Doctor. 

O Spectre! spare a while my dreadful Doom!  
Go back and tell the Damned, I come, I come;  
Only let me complete the Ills I've begun,  
Then Heaven farewel, and unto You I come.   Devil. 

The Blood o'th' Innocent aloud does cry,  
Revenge, Revenge, on cursed Doctor Ti—  
No more o'th' Innocent shall bleed, nor die.   Doctor. 

Well, the time's come, the fatal day's at hand,  
That I for ever, ever must be damned:  
O cursed Revenge! what Mischiefs have I done?  
Abjured the Father, and blasphemed the Son.  
The Sacred Spirit of Truth at once have I  
Banished; and that my vengeance I might buy,  
I've caused the best of Innocents' to die.  
See where their Ghosts appear in Purple rayed, afresh;  
Victims, by Perjury alone betrayed:  
See how they shake their Heads, and bleed  
Their wounds gape wide in their new murdered flesh;  
And these most frightful Visions come, cause I  
Th' bloody Villainous Murderer stand by.  
'Tis true, that I the cruel Murderer am,  
And thousands more by Perjury to trepan  
I solemnly did vow, and often swear,  
And none t'escape, from the Peasant to the Peer;  
Nay Sacred Prelates, Princes, Queens and Kings,  
Should have made up my Bloody Offerings.  
Ten Thousand more of Innocents' had died,  
'Cause I King, Queen, and Duke had Sacrificed:  
Cities and Towns I'd Fired, if not withstood,  
And quenched the flames with Innocent Blood.  
Let me but live in this world three years more,  
This Island then shall swim in Christian gore;  
I'll subvert Governments, and murder Kings,  
Sow discord among Friends; I'll do such things  
Shall make the World believe there is not that  
Villainous thing I have not power to act:  
I'll make the World believe (let me but stay)  
That Light is Darkness, and that Night is Day;  
That I the Saviour of the Nation am,  
And that CHRIST was of no avail to Man;  
Then I the Sacred Gospels will destroy,  
Swear they're but fictious Stories, and a Lie;  
Persuade them that the Bible's but a Farce,  
No more to be esteemed than is my A—  
So I'll improve the Art of Perjury,  
That none who are not skilled in Villainy  
Shall live; thus will I fit this Isle for Hell,  
And then adieu the World, and Heaven farewel.  
Thus I a Learned Doctor will commence,  
And by the People be adored for Nonsense,  
And with Sedition I their Souls will influence.   Devil. 

Peace thou profane wretch, hold Villain, hold,  
For now with Heaven and Earth thou art too bold,  
And I must tell thee, another Winter old  
Thou shalt not be, thy life and Soul are sold:  
When flat on th' Altar Thou thyself didst lay,  
Remember that thou gav'st thy Soul away  
To me; and sworest for ever thou'dst be mine,  
Mightst thou but compass thy Hellish Design;  
To imbrue thy Hands in Innocent Blood,  
And murder all who had the face of good:  
Devils and Hell thou hast in this outdone,  
By thy damned Perjury i'th' face o'th' Sun▪  
Hence then be gone to Hell, away, away,  
For in this place thou shalt no longer stay.   

[Spoken by an old Acquaintance]  
Why how now Doctor, vanished fled and gone,  
What none but Monsieur Devil and You alone?  
Are all your Papists come to this damned end.  
Thus to be hampered and ridden by a Fiend?  
Unpitiedly; blaspheme and groan thy last,  
Belch forth thy unhallowed Soul, and blast  
Hell itself, with thy unsanctified Breath,  
And grovelling i'th' shades of Eternal Death,  
I leave thee. Ha', ha', ha', ha', poor Doctor,  
Good Night little good Mr. Devil's Doctor.    

Tyburn's Courteous Invitation to TITUS OATS, the Salamanca Doctor.  

OH! name it once again; will Titus come?  
My dearest, hopeful, that long-wished for One,  
For whom my Triple Arms extended were,  
(To hug with close Embraces) many a year.  
Haste! haste! my choicest Darling, whom I love,  
And thy long-promised kindness let me prove.  
That Right Thou plead'st for, which indeed's thy due,  
Though Others I've denied, I'll grant it You:  
The World shall find I willingly will bear,  
And dance thy Carcase 'twixt the Earth and Air.  
In Hemp'n-string I'll lull thee fast asleep,  
And prevent all the Dangers of the Deep.  
Oh, how I love thee! 'cause I've heard thou'dst been  
So well acquainted with all kinds of Sin,  
And, with a false and strange Religious Guise,  
Destroyed the Innocent, abused the Wise.  
What crafty Lessons didst thou teach to men!  
How to Rebel, and told the time best when;  
Urged to Exclude a Right and Lawful Heir,  
Unthrone a King, and swore away a Peer.  
Thy Zeal through two-inch-Boards was plainly seen,  
When Satan prompt thee to swear 'gainst the Queen:  
Besides those many guiltless Souls that died  
A Sacrifice to thy Luciferian Pride.  
Yet, yet, beloved Titus, my dear Son,  
(Reputed Saviour, for thy Mercies shown,)  
And well mayst claim my Palace as thine own:  
Thou'lt find me kinder far than Courtiers; I  
Will never turn thee out unril thou die:  
And, since Whitehall has left thee, I'll provide  
That Lodging for Thee, where old Noll was tied.    

The REFORMATION. ASATYR.  Tempora mutantur, & nos mutamur in illis. 

HOW Roman-like did our Old Rebel Dye,  
With His last breath profaning Majesty?  
And braving Heaven itself, He wed not stay  
(Lest 'twere a piece of cowardice) to Pray.  
And cannot all this Gallantry Engage  
Some Zealot, spurred up to Poetic Rage?  
But not a word— there's not one Ballad made,  
Curtis I see, will have but slender Trade,  
For Rhymers now begin to Renegade:  
I wondered not at Converts of the Cits,  
Yet still I thought some Epidemic Wits  
Would ne'er have Grace enough for Proselytes.  
But edifying Catch does seldom fail,  
And when All miss, He's certain to prevail.  
Jack's a great — for his very sight  
Did our bold Whiggish Oracles so fright,  
That there's not one of all the Canting Fry,  
Can write a failing Brothers Elegy.  
Nay, lesser yet— Their Club will not afford  
A Farewell Speech; unless it be for a Lord.  
The meaner Tyburn Saints have nought to say,  
Besides their Pater Noster, and Away—  
A way they march to their true Friends below  
Cursing the blabbing H—rd as they go.  
But Shafts smiles to see 'em come so thick,  
For He's resolved to play another trick,  
And have one 'Bout at Politic Old Nick:  
For Stephen Vows they cannot live in Hell,  
Except they make the little devils Rebel,  
And after, Vote it to a Common-weal.  
'Tis pleasant, Faith, to see a Babe of Grace  
Masking Geneva Looks with Loyal Face;  
Then gravely tell you that He never stood  
Too fierce a Stickler for the Brotherhood  
And ne'er meant Mischief, but for Public g●od.   

Thus Pious Wh— deeply Read in Lives,  
French Leagues, Scotch Covenants, and Narratives,  
Though (the next Oxford sitting) He designed  
IT Impeach Minced Pies as Popishly inclined,  
Has now made tender Conscience so comply,  
He'll allow Surplice, Cross, and Litany.  
Nay any thing, for th' Godly Reformade  
Seems so to hate the Salamank● Trade,  
That now a Passive Lecture He'll digest,  
As well as Meroz at Forbidden Feast,  
Tho' Jeakel spoke with sacred Nonsense blest.   

Next Bethel wisely turning with the Tide,  
Thinks to shake off the once-Beloved-Side,  
And doth the whole Design so much resent,  
You'd almost Swear, He loved the Government:  
Yet still He closely favours the Intrigue,  
And quits the Sh— from his Holy League.   

Arn— that early Martyr for the Cause,  
So mauled in Jack'napes Lane by Popish Claws,  
Was pitied, till some Tell-tales understood  
That He, like Priest of Baal, in zealous mood,  
First Scratched Himself, and then did Murder cry,  
And hanged a Brace of Tories by the by,  
No Engine kills like a Religious Lye.  
But He, and Stout Sir Tr— (that could Vote  
For Freedom with as Popular a Note  
As any of the House) begin to shrink,  
Humbling themselves with Penitential Chink.   

So W—ms, who the same brave Motto wore  
As Catiline, and Cassius, did before,  
Doth now His Latin Poesy Paraphrase,  
Will's For the King, (If not against His Grace  
And Tr— laying down that Great Command,  
Will All His Taunton Forces now Disband.   

And thus, Forsooth, whilst Loyalty's in Fashion,  
weare like to have a Hopeful Reformation,  
But Subtle Roger bids Us have a Care,  
'Tis dangerous yet to Trust these Saints too far,  
'Tis Ten to One, if Jove's Great Mercy can  
Of Whig, or Trimmer, make an Honest Man.    

Advice to His GRACE.  

AWake, vain man; 'tis time th' Abuse to see;  
Awake, and guard thy heedless Loyalty  
From all the Snares are laid for It and Thee.  
No longer let that busy juggling Crew  
(Who to their own misdeeds entitle You,)  
Abuse Your Far: Consider, Sir, the State  
Of our unhappy Isle, disturbed of late  
With causeless Jealousies, ungrounded Fear,  
Obstinate Faction, and Seditious Care;  
Gone quite distracted for Religion's sake;  
And nothing their hot brains can cooler make,  
(So great's the deprivation of their sense,)  
But the excluding of their lawful Prince:  
A Prince, in whose each Act is clearly shown,  
That Heaven designed him to adorn a Throne;  
Which (tho' He scorns by Treason to pursue,)  
He ne'er will quit, if it become His due.  
Then lay betimes your mad Ambition down;  
Nor let the dazzling Lustre of a Crown  
Bewitch your Thoughts; but think what mighty care  
Attends the Crowns that Lawful Princes wear;  
But when ill Title's added to the Weight,  
How insupportable's the Load of State!  
Believe those working Brains Your Name abuse;  
You only for their Property do use:  
And when they're strong enough to stand alone;  
You, as an useless Thing, away'l be thrown.  
Think too, how dear you have already paid,  
For the fine Projects Your false Friends had laid.  
When by the Rabbles fruitless Zeal You lost  
Your Royal Father's Love, Your growing Fortune crossed;  
Say, was Your Bargain, think ye, worth the Cost?  
Remember what Relation, Sir, you bear  
To Royal Charles; Subject and Son You are;  
Two Names that strict Obedience does require;  
What Frenzy then does your rash Thoughts inspire,  
Thus by Disloyal Deeds to add more Cares,  
To them of the bright Burden that he wears?  
Why with such eager speed hunt You a Crown  
You're so unfit to wear, were it Your own?  
With Bows, and Legs, and little Arts, You try,  
A rude, unthinking Tumults Love to buy:  
And he who stoops to do so mean a Thing,  
Shows, He, by Heaven, was ne'er designed for King.  
Would you be Great? do Things are Great and brave  
And scorn to be the Mobile's dull Slave:  
Tell the base Great Ones, and the shouting Throng,  
You scorn a Crown worn in another's wrong.  
Prove Your high Birth by Deeds Noble and Good;  
But strive not to Legitimate your Blood. Ephelia.    

The Solicitous Citizen: Or Much-ado about NOTHING.  

COntinual Hubbub, and the noise of Plot,  
Idle Suspicions of he knows not what,  
The Pope, the Devil, and the ●rench, five years  
Have (it enslaved to Jealousies and ●ears;  
Nor any Prospect yet of Peace appears:  
Bandied about 'twixt Credit and Despair,  
Who's safe (he cries) while such Designs there are?  
And (what is more perplexing) can't tell where.  
No, though of late he to his side have got  
TITUS, that Devil at cold scent of Plot;  
But he (poor Cur) at Oxford lost his Fame,  
Where he Ran counter, to's eternal shame;  
There the base man, Disloyal and ,  
A second time proved Traitor to his Trust:  
In vain from him Discoveries you hope;  
The Cur (Pox on him) 's foiled; A Rope, a Rope.   

But this to ●it no satisfaction gives;  
He's still uneasy, and in Fear he lives:  
Cries, there are others who can find out Plots,  
(And Make perhaps) as well as Dr. Oats;  
Sesse, Wiser Heads than his the City Rule;  
(Or else said, Each Cit had been a I ovl.  
Say what ye will, we will secure our Home,  
Be all in readiness at Beat of Drum;  
Who knows how soon the K. of France may come?  
The Guards each night, you'd split to see the Farce,  
(Like Rattle-Snakes, with Bandaleers at A—  
Tied to long Swords, and dressed in Greasy Buff,  
Majestic Porters) through the City huff;  
Whilst Leader, Fore-horse-like, the Pageant mak●s  
With formal strut, and's gaudy Tassel shakes.  
In this brave Pomp they march to Rendesvouze,  
And there from Nine till Six securely bouse.  
In damned Mundungus, and as nasty Nantz,  
They curse the Pope, and huff the K. of France.  
Does but poor whore about their Quarters budge  
Whom undkind Stars do force till Ten to trudge;  
Stait brustling Myrmidon cries, Who comes there?  
Stand, or I'll fire; or stir a foot that dare;  
Raises the Guards, (for such Alarms are common)  
Two hundred men to seize on one poor Woman.  
Why here so late? (cries Leader) On what score?  
What are you? I'm a Woman. You're a Whore:  
And, Fellow Buff-Coats, a suspicious One:  
For ought I know, the Whore of Babylon.  
As you say Captain, it may be Pope Joan.   

Such Feats as these our mighty Dons of war  
Perform, to show the world how much they dare,  
And then to judge what plaguy Curs they are.  
But here dull Cit is out in's Policy,  
While he on woman does his Manhood try:  
Credulous Ass, there's no more gross mistake,  
Citizens Wives Beasts of their Husbands make.  
Believe me Cit, thou'dst better far neglect  
The Plots Abroad, and those at Home inspect:  
Needest no Contriving Jesuits fear, but th'Leagues  
of Wife with Courtier, th' Islington Intrigues.  
Was it well known to each contented Sot  
What's done at home, how Jacky was Begot,  
He'd be more jealous of his Wife than th' Plot.   

But of all Pates, Cit has the softest one;  
(The better (cries the Wife) to Graft upon;)  
But he by such damned Dulness is undone:  
While on him every Rascal puts a Trick,  
Care, Curtis, Baldwin and Seditious Dick:  
Such Rogues as these do still Suspicions give,  
And make new Plots that no man can believe:  
One buzzes This, one That Report in's Ear;  
One makes him hope, another makes him fear,  
Just like four Mastiff-Dogs upon one Bear.  
Thus curious Cit these Plaguy Rascals mawl,  
Who knows not which the True or False to call,  
But honestly (dull Soul believes 'em All.  
This makes 'em in the City choose alone  
To vent their Libels; for there can't be shown  
One Treason-Writer at our end o'th' Town:  
These are the Knaves who make the Cits suspect  
Their Prince, that he their Safety does neglect,  
Whose only Care (Heaven knows) is to protect:  
These are the Villains who our Jars increase,  
Nor till they're Hanged can we e'er hope for Peace.  
Each Cobler's Statesman grown, and the bold Rabble  
Convert each Ale-house-Board to Council-table;  
One censures this, another blames that fashion,  
And thus they settle the Affairs o'th' Nation:  
On Votes and Councils are their Judgements past,  
And in what form they please Affairs they cast;  
Thus College did, but he was hanged at last.    

The CHARTER. A Comical satire.  

Fire! Fire! Fire! Help, for we're all in Flames!  
Pra● come▪ for the good Lords sake of Three Names!  
Son's ●● Committees, and Sequestrators,  
Old Rebe●●, and new Associators;  
Call t●● 〈◊〉'd Officers, and Justice,  
(Whose Mettle like to be eat with Rust is,)  
Step to the Synagogue, and Jenkins Pew,  
Call all the Gentiles, and knock up the Jew;  
For such cursed Wild-fire's amongst us thrown,  
(Worse than the Jesuits) 'twill burns quite down;  
A Vengeance Fireball called Quo Warranto,  
Will bring all our hopes to Achoranto.   

AS Sampson's Strength up in his Hair was tied,  
Rebellions Strength was in the Charter hid;  
Late in a Trumpet Treason every Punk  
Can speak; nowed must be whispered through a Trunk;  
By charter, Brother Traitor we could free,  
Now there's no Privilege for Perjury:  
Next time my Lord, beware the Medal-house.  
Though we'd be damned for't, we can't save your sauce;  
've done as much for you as men could do,  
Ventured our Souls, and lost our Charter too.  
And is that all? Come, bened crest-fallen, make shift  
And bear up, Ill help you at a dead lift;  
Something may yet be done, though we darened touch  
On Meal Tub-Plots lest caught i'th' Bollinghutch.  
How says your Lordship, (for your Honour's free)  
Capital Member of our Company;  
And you know well that 'tis out of Fashion,  
(For Tradesmen to sink in Desperation;)  
Methinks, though we broke at State (for sins,)  
We may drive the old Trade of Coney-skins,  
And Kid-knapping? Sell Brock and Dog-skin-Muff,  
And country Captains cheat with Horse skin-Buff?  
We must employ our Talents, still, devise,  
A hundred Prodigies, and Prodigious Lies;  
The Hook of Popery won't take small  
Fish now, (fie of't) the French have quite marred all,  
The Whore of Babylon, and Antichrist  
He hath ground to powder and spoiled our Grist;  
Who would have thought that  King  
Would stop our Mouths with such a Christian thing?   

But yet we'll sigh, and groan, and shake the head,  
In time Rebellion may be brought to Bed,  
With good Midwifery, and good Wife's aid,  
To whom such Tales as these must still be said;  
How a Child spoke as soon as born we'll tell;  
(Perhaps before, to ears that could hear well;)  
Tell Northern men how Six Suns did appear  
At once i'th' South; to Southern, Eight Moons there.   

Then for a touch of Prophecies we'll say,  
The Isle O Brazeel but the other day  
Appeared to a good Master of a Ship,  
Where an old woman that gave Death the slip  
 since the Deluge, told him, that the Time  
Of the Saint's Government was now at Prime;  
Down goes Baalam, Ashteroth and Dagon,  
Down goes Bell, and then up goes the Dragon.   

But now let's gibe the Sail, and catch the Wind  
And make a tack to fetch you up behind.  
There was a time (they say) since the World stood,  
You had a Charter never to be good.   

Have you forgot your Routs and Riots, when  
You forced the best of Kings, and best of Men  
To fly from's Royal Palace, and betake  
Himself to Forest-shelter, and the brake?  
When the Divine Magicians of your Town  
Changed you to Wolves and Dogs to hunt him down?   

Have you forgot how you the Queen did force,  
And Highborn Issue to a sad Divorce  
From their Royal Father? Have you forgot  
How you made th' Crown and Mitre go to pot?  
First Clamour, then Petition, Last you bring  
Rebellion, a complete Sin-Offering:  
Say Obediah, tell me if you please,  
Had you a Charter for such Tricks as these?   

Once more Beloved; Have you forgot when  
Beat up for Bankrupt and Religious Thrums?  
When Hungry Levites and starved Prentices  
Sallied from their dark Cells and Penthouses,  
And like the Plagues of Egypt spreads all o'er,  
Some for to stench us, all for to devour?  
Have you forgot how you did Stab the King  
And Church, with Bodkin, Thimble, Spoon and Ring,  
And like the Indians prostitute yourselves,  
For th' Devilish Idols of your Cause and Elves?  
Say Annanias, tell me if you please,  
Had you a Charter for such Tricks as these?  
Surely the Act of Amnesty is split  
On those claim pardon, won't renounce the Gild;  
A Realm divided 'gainst itself can't stand,  
Nor City, if by such as you 'twere man'd;  
In vain are Oaths and Witnesses, if th' Shreeve  
Can pack a Jury, that will not believe:  
A Turk's a good Evidence, ('tis very true)  
Against a Christian not against a Jew.  
The Pope and Conclave sure have changed their Nests,  
And took your Quarters up within your Breasts;  
Their high Prerogatives to You resigned,  
Can damn the Innocent, and saint the Fiend;  
Or else your Conscience and Religion  
Are inspired with Mahomet's Pigeon,  
A Race of Chequerwork that's intertext  
With the worst Christian and worst Jew mixed,  
A kind of circum uncircumcised kind,  
Can Swear the Body, and not swear the Mind;  
(As Senators (for to get in) must Swear;  
Then keep the COVENANT to Depose the Heir;)  
And all this's done by virtue of the Full  
Charta pro Causa, and a Tub-Pulpit full,   

Sons of Oedipus, we know you enough,  
The mark of Cain is graven on your Brow;  
Not for the Churches, nor for the Crown-Land,  
But for the Twelve Apostles 'tis you stand.  
St. Paul for London, St. Peter for Rome,  
Judas for the Suburbs till the day of Doom;  
'Tis not the first time you have showed your Liege,  
How you hate Idols, but love Sacrilege;  
'Tis hard to say, to whom we're most in Debt,  
To the Jesus, or to the Judas-it;  
Lions and unicorns support our Arms,  
But these are th' Beasts that do support our Harms.   

Now to the Quo Warranto we must Tack,  
Join my Lord's Kennel to the City Pack;  
Speak, Joller, Jolly, Jewel, Whig-dog; Quest,  
Bouncer, Bawler, Blew-lips, and the rest.  
O Divine Charter, It would burst my heart,  
If th' Ark from Israel should thus departed!  
But don't bring Pleas as vast as th' Book of Martyr  
T' obstruct Justice, and prolong your Charter;  
Speak to th' point good Brother, what canst say  
To keep this Charter ever and for ay?  
Please You my Lord, our Charter's sacred made  
By Grants so many, none can it invade;  
Of Twenty Kings and Senates hath the Seal.   

The Pope had more before he did Rebel  
Against the Law of God and of the King,  
He was confiscate for the selfsame thing;  
The Law's the Rule of Peace, it doth not jar  
In't self, it hath no Repugnance, nor War.  
If Kings themselves can't give their Crowns away,  
Then Kings by Law can't Themselves betray.   

Look you Brother, here You have Misused  
Your Charter, and the known Laws abused;  
Riots and Routs, You that should them suppress,  
You have promoted to a great Excess;  
You have picked Juries, packed them for your Cause,  
And this destroys the Fundamental Laws;  
You that should Schism and Faction quell, support  
Unlawful Meetings, and to them resort;  
What shall I say of Oaths? You Allegiance Swear  
To day, to morrow would expel the Heir;  
Whose Crimes beyond all Precedents go,  
Forfeit their Cha●●els, and their Charter too.   

To this we answer, Let the sinner die,  
A Tooth for a Tooth, and Eye for Eye;  
Let the Transgressor's of the Law be lashed,  
But do not let the Law itself be dashed;  
Things that have Sanction of long time, and great  
Authority, should not be lightly set.   

In days of old, when Subjects Innocence,  
Virtue and Goodness did oblige their Prince;  
The greatness of the Monarch's mind was such,  
They thought good Subjects could not have too much;  
But yet they ne'er intended public wrong  
By private Act, that's but an ill-tuned Song;  
They used their Charter merely to support  
The Government, You to betray the Fort;  
And 'twas not Sodom's sins, But 'twas the Men  
Cast Town and Charter in the Sulphurous Fen;  
Your Oracle hath spoke, and 'tmust be so;  
Carthago delenda est, down ' 'tmust go.  
Where now do all our Learned Chaldeans keep?  
Be our Soothsayers and ‛ Strologers asleep?  
I' th' Blazing Stars Predictions was a Flaw;   

You said Antichrist for Anti-Law.  
Oft men of Art by Figure take that Scope  
To mean the Charter, when they named the Pope;  
Well, there's no help for't now, she must be stripped  
That's caught a Whoring, and severely Whipped;  
The doubt of Tyranny late turned your Maw;  
How do You like this Governing by Law?  
When Lunatics are in their Frantic fits,  
'Tis the best Expedient to reduce their Wits.   

Son of a Slave, is't not enough to cheat  
Fools of their Money, but you must defeat  
Them of their Souls? Duties to their GOD and Prince?  
Was this the Trade you're bound to 10 years since?  
Sell your Pole-davis, pack up your false Ware,  
And be content to cheat your Chapmen there;  
You ne'er were Apprentice to a Statesman sure!  
Say some Great Knave, (to draw thee to this Lure,)  
Should struck thee on the addle head, and cry;  
Come honest Tom, (Thou knowst better than I)  
We're like to have sad times you see;  
Religion groans, and bleeding Liberty;  
The honest subject he must be disgraced,  
And every sober Officer displaced;  
We can't keep Feast nor Fast for th' Nations good,  
But all's misconstrued and misunderstood;  
The Plot is vanished, and the Duke appears;  
Tom, han't we cause for Jealousies and Fears?  
Perhaps thou sighest then till thy Buttons Crack,  
And (as thy Soul was torturing on the Rack)  
From the Vesuvus of thy smoking Zeal,  
Thou bellow'st forth this lamentable Peal.   

Ah! My dear Lard! Happy the Womb that bore,  
‛ An heart so Noble, Israel can deplore,  
‛ In such sad Times as these when Woes us shroud,  
‛ That Moses will conduct us in a Cloud!  
‛ We are all grieved with Extremities,  
‛ And Pharaoh's deaf to all our Plaints and Cries  
Our Wills with Bridle, and our Mouths with Bit  
‛ Are held by force, our Sanhedrims shan't sit;  
‛ We can't stoop down to Baal; Saints that have right  
 Judge the Earth are Ravished of their might;  
Our Handsare Fettered, and our Hearts complain,  
‛ That freeborn Spirits should be thralled in Chain;  
‛ These, and ten thousand grievances we have;  
‛ But you must save poor dying Souls from th' Grave.  
‛ Sweet Lord, [But Orpheus,] who should take the pain  
 bring Eurydice from Hell again?   

How drooping? [quoth my Lord?] hold up good Tom,  
Of my Spirit of Sulphur take a Dram;  
Though at a 'Slight or two, wer'e almost gone,  
He's a poor Juggler, that han't more tricks than one,  
I'll call my familiar,— Presto appear;  
He comes,— and whispers in my Ear.   

Courage Monsieur, and do not be dismayed,  
From Pluto's Councel-Board, I'll still bring aid;  
Stand but your ground, and doubt no overthrow,  
Whilst there's a Fury in the deep below;  
Fig for the Globe and Sceptre too to boot,  
The Trades-man's Yard is longer by a Foot;  
Be Impudent enough, Affronts repeat,  
Nothing so brave as th' Base to brow the Great.  
A thousand ways, a thousand Wiles we'll try,  
In Town must set the Stygian Company,  
Whose Country Factors must retail their Wares  
From House to House as do the Scotchmen theirs.   

Complain of Taxes in time of Wars;  
In Peace of Trade, and evil Councillors;  
inveterate Lechers when their Lust departs,  
To keep the Sports up, they must use new Arts.   

We must the Crowns Prerogative impair,  
The Negative voice in th' Commons declare,  
To Counterfeit the COIN 'tis Treason made,  
But not the PRINCE'S Power to invade;  
'Tis Orthodox the longest Day you live,  
Your Rights t'Encroach, and Rob th' Prerogative.  
'Slight all the King's Alliances, disgrace  
Foreign Ambassadors in every place;  
Say that Ben Hadu Otor's scarce half man'd  
[Though wiser far] than all our Knaves i' th' Land;  
We are all Brethren, and we now must blow  
With all our Heifers, Might and Main must bow;  
Every new Moon a new Parliament can't  
Re-mind the Folk, that they're the Government;  
We shall have one at last I'm sure, and then  
We'll make such Senators shall make us Men:  
The Tide may turn, States have their Ebb and Flow,  
And we may catch them when the Water's low;  
Children must be provided for, and Wars  
May hap, Crowns themselves are not free from cares;  
Then Money must be had, our Silver Coin  
Shall buy good part of Pharaoh's Golden Mine;  
We are all Tradesmen now, and what we give  
IT shall be but Bartering for Prerogative;  
Fetch the Adressors up, and scour the Coast  
Of all the Tories and abhorring Host;  
Hang up the Judges, and Grand-Juries clap  
Close in Goals that stood i' th' Royal Gap;  
Dawn but that day, (quoth Tom) and we will Sing,  
A Headless Council and a Headless King.   

Hold quoth my Lord, too fast, now you ramble;  
(Quoth Tom) to keep pace wi' ye I must amble.  
Bless me my Stars! Can such as these men be  
The Bulwarks of our Church and Liberty?  
Send them to the Morocco in Exchange  
For's Ostriches and Lions, they're Beasts more strange.   

The French 'tis said, Fees any one that's rare,  
Pray Cross the Waters, and to Him repair;  
If there be any Spirits that excel  
You in Sedition, they must come from Hell.   

We know the idol of your Charter's dear  
To you, as Laban's Gods to Rachel were  
In her pollutions which she slily hid,  
Because all search their Modesty forbid;  
But your pollutions in your Charter Reign.  
And hope it shall your wickedness maintain.  
No Date of Time, no Power on Earth can give  
Such Sanction as to make Corruption live.   

But Master Ignoramus, make right view;  
And sure 'tis not your Charter squints, but You;  
There's no such thing as the King's friends shall bleed,  
And's Mortal Enemies for Treason freed.  
You're fine Fellows to Judge the twelve Tribes; I fear  
By Magna Charta you will scarce sit there:  
Cabbage twice boild's stark naught, and th' discourse  
(You know) in Pulpit still the same, is worse.   

Consider Rabbi, You are wise and sage,  
Rebels and Jubilees thrive but once an Age:  
Alas you know it was but th' other Day  
With Drum and Trumpet, Fool and Knave this Play  
Was Acted to our cost of Lives and Ore,  
Pack up your Nawls, we'll be deceived no more:   

Grant some great Lord or two did chance to jar  
(With Cedars well as Shruhs, such Chances are;)  
But yet methinks, the Twigs should grateful be  
To th' Root that gave them all their Bravery.  
Malice ne'er vows for Mischief, and Revenge  
Is dearer much to Mortals, than the Fringe  
Of Heaven; The Soul of Body and ' State;  
And every Nerve's employed to serve its Hate.  
The cunning and the crafty must be bought,  
The young and sportive; they are easy caught;  
The discontented they must be left alive,  
With hopes of his ambitious Retrieve;  
Sticks of all sorts and sizes it must get,  
To make the Flame, and to increase the heat;  
And still Religion makes the Oven red,  
Or else quite spoild's the Batch of Gingerbread.   

Then crawl the Infects forth, their Kingdom's come,  
Still where the Carrion is those Creatures room,  
And buzzing up and down the Town they cry,  
For Liberty, and for Truth we'll die.  
To Hang for Rascals first, I wish you'd try.  
Ha●k Villains, hark! Your base Rebellious Lust,  
And your royalties have the selfsame gust;  
Your Goat's Blood cannot itch so much, to down  
With Both as we to prop the Church and Crown.   

I saw your Spells (the Votes;) 'twas bravely done;  
As with the Father you'd deal with the Son,  
I've seen your Martyr's, Peter, Scot, and Viner,  
Sainted in Gold, with College the Joiner.  
I've seen your Pamphlets, Libels Books of print;  
Such ne'er before came from the Devil's Mint.   

I've seen the Doctor's Depositions too;  
And faith he's done as much as man could do.  
Won't all this Old-new-found-Art do the work,  
To pull the King down, and set up the Kirk?  
What? No Cornucopia to be found?  
Be all our Knights-Templers laid under ground?  
Are our Braves good for nothing, but to lap  
Th' infected droopings of a silver Tap?  
Alas! we want Ingredients; Give  
Us a Parliament that shall ever live,  
And the Militia, we're completely Blest;  
CESAR do that, and then, Sir, do your best.   

What Snake-haired Fury with Infernal Brand,  
Broke lose from Hell thus to inflame the Land?  
Shall we be jealous of our blessed Content,  
Till cracking th'strings, we break the Instrument?  
Shall our Archangel of the Devil's See  
Drowned Four and twenty of our Hierarchy;  
And by a whirlwind from the Stygian-Lake,  
A Glorious Monarch, and Three Kingdoms wreck?  
Down Asmodeus, down to the burning Pits,  
Where thy Council of State in Brimstone sits:  
In that dark Conclave let thy Envy range:  
Changing but That, never expect more change.   

Here Pity checks my Spleen, and who can tell  
Good Angels sorrows, when the Train too fell?  
But they were blest with great perfection,  
And (though seduced) the Crime was All their  
Beneath the Firmament it is not so,  
Here's imperfection in the High and Low.  
One Lucifer on Earth may dangerous prove,  
More than a Legion to One Saint above.   

But see! the Murdered Martyrs Ghosts appear!  
Your Native Prince and Father's Shades stand there!  
Lend Them your Eyes, the Rabble not your Ear.  
And what would the mad Rabble have? Let's try:  
And who would ask, but one as mad as I?  
Can the turbulent wind tell why it blows?  
Gr tumbling Ocean why it Ebbs and Flows?  
The senseless Rabble's but that Dust which flies  
With every puff of wind into our eyes:  
It makes you purblind, and defiles your Shoes;  
Rather to piss on't than to court it choose.   

I'll dare the Sun, which hath surveyed the Earth  
Ever since Eve gave Cain and Abel Birth;  
In all his Travels, if he can declare  
A people Franchised as the English are?  
All others Birthright Bondage is; but We  
Surfeit with Cates, and glut with Liberty.  
If Heaven should bid a Subject to implore  
What bliss we want, he could not ask for more;  
Oh the unhappy state of Happiness!  
They enjoy more that do enjoy much less;  
Rome in its Pomp and Pride could never show  
Men of that bulk of Wealth in England flow;  
And every Cottager lives frank and free  
As Jove, Here's a perpetual Jubilee:  
Hear one great Truth an English Subject sings,  
We have one Emperor, and a Million Kings.    

To the KING.  

Celestial Prince, descended from above,  
With Goodness, and the wisdom of great Jove;  
Hovering the Doves with thy Seraphic Wings,  
Still Shielding Church and State from Serpent's Stings,  
Accept the Addresses of our Humble praise  
'Tis all the Incense Men to God can raise.   

When civil War Three Kingdoms did enthral,  
You were the Saviour that Redeemed us all,  
And raised miraculously from their Graves,  
Three Soul-sunk Nations that were Slaves to Slaves;  
Mean Thanks do mighty favours quite disgrace,  
But dull Ingratitude becomes the base:  
How Justly may'st thou let thy Thunder fly?  
Both Giants and Pigmies doomed to die.  
What, will they war with Jove? in vain, in vain;  
Whom th' Gods have Crowned, in spite of Worms shall Reign;  
Repent proud Dust before it he too late,  
Strike Sail; my Muse shall be your Advocate.  
Hear great Apollo, Phoebus lend thine Ear  
To an unpolisht Muse's humble Prayer.  
She lifts no Phaetontick palm on high;  
Lo, her request is veiled with Modesty;  
Thou that art goodness Essence, Thou that keeps  
Clemency waking that she never sleeps;  
Look on the Errors of Mortality,  
With the kind Aspect of your Godlike Eye.  
Though they have sinned (and certainly a Sin  
To death, had it against a bad Prince been,)  
And their Transgressions in an high degree,  
Are aggravated to sin thus against Thee;  
My poor Muse begs, (although their sins be great,)  
That Thou wouldst not Forget, to forget.    

To the DUKE.  

And Thou great Hero of loud Fame's first rate  
(Still partner of your Royal Brother's Fate)  
Who baffle Mischief, and her Dart despise,  
And stand the firmer for her Batteries;  
Whilst Envy toils herself quite out of breath,  
You undisturbed can smile the Wretch to death.  
Malice is now in a Consumption grown;  
To see herself mistake in You alone;  
Still the more venom that on You they throw,  
Still you the Taller, and more lovely grow;  
Can walk the Fiery Furnace, and no Hair  
Singed, no smell of Fire, no impair:  
Fond men! To hope they can destroy whom Jove  
Preserves by Wonders, and peculiar Love:  
Never before prosumptive Heir did sure,  
Worse Wrongs from most presumptive Men endure,  
Well may they droop their Heads, and Necks incline,  
As Tulips Frost bit with a Northern Wind;  
To Prudence still and Piety you're Just,  
And do forgive whom none will wish to trust.    

To the LORDS.  

You of the Constellation that maintain  
Your starry Glories, from Apostate stain;  
You whose chaste Loyalty for ever streamed  
To th' Royal Lamp of Honour whence You beamed,  
You shall for ever share the Muse's Praise,  
Whilst Helicon hath Drops, Apollo Bays.    

To the GENTRY.  

Come Brothers of the Minor-Stars, that are  
No wand'ring Planets, but fixed in Your Sphere;  
You that have vowed to be so True  
To Charles, that to yourselves you be so too;  
(And sure I am your Oath will not be broke,  
You'll bow to Destiny, before the Yoke)  
We must not praise nor thank ourselves, that's vain,  
That were but Champarty (You know in grain;  
But we'll so Loyal and so Faithful live,  
That Church and Crown's Fees Us no thanks shall give.    

To the Common-Councel and Court of Aldermen.  

And You brave Citizens, so Rich and Wise,  
(The Boons of Heavens, due to Loyalties)  
Heaven marks them who from Allegiance stray,  
(With Children, Wits, or Fortunes quite awry.)  
You that hold th' Rains, kerb the headstrong Jaws  
Of Asses kicked at Governors and Laws;  
You know that Trade doth still most profit bring,  
To them are true to God, and to their King;  
Long may You live, and may the Town and Court  
Be happy in the prayers of my poor heart;  
May no King want such Citizens, I pray,  
Nor Townsmen Prince, like him they now enjoy.    

To the Livery-men.  

But You that are now of th' new Livery,  
And Old Leven, look for no thanks from me;  
Keep to your Gods; on damned Bradshaw call,  
Implore the shades of Ireton and Noll  
To come improved from Hell, and be so good  
To set cracked men with Plunder up, and Blood;  
The Rabble shall no longer Rule this Town,  
Rebellions Charter must now go down:  
But yet we'll beg the King that he would please  
To give another on good terms as these.   

countries' overgrown with Beasts of Rapine, be  
Tied to destroy the common Enemy,  
And bound by Charter yearly to afford  
So many Fox or Wolf-skins to the Lord.   

London, once bounded in Walls, is now boundless  
Grown from a City to a Wilderness,  
More and worse Vermin lurk in 't's Holes and Dens,  
Than Wolves in Toryland, or Frogs in Fens:  
If they renew their Charter, may they pay  
A Rebel's head for Quitrent every day,  
And a Whore's Liver, till the Town be found  
Honest, and (like the Loyal Country) sound.   

Now we have done, we have not done; what's there?  
See how the Mutinous Women appear!  
Nip Insurrections in the bud; Drums beat  
A parl, and let us with the Females treat;  
What would the good wives have? Forbear slaughter!  
Then quoth the Amazons, we'll keep our Charter;  
And thus pleads first a Mouse trap maker's Wife;  
Before we'll lose our Honour, we'll lose Life;  
Honour than Food or Raiment prized more high;  
For It we'll live, and for It we'll die  
Farewell Charter, Farewell Gentility,   

Next comes a bouncing Butchers Wife i'th' Van,  
With a Cow-killing Pole axe in her Hand,  
D'y ' think we'll lose our Charter? and be styled Fro,  
As Fish-women be in Bore-land, and well so?  
Master Punch kills an Ox, and Twenty Sheep  
Each week i'th' year, and I the Stall do keep;  
Shall all this Blood (besides a Freeman's Wise)  
Now lose its Honour? by my Butcher's Life  
For our Noble Charter we will stand and fall,  
For if we lose our Arms, we then lose all.   

Then spoke a Chandler's wife with Ale-stufft-Lungs  
As big as Tun, foaming at all her Bungs;  
D'ye think I'll sit at Bar all day for th' Fees  
I get by Porter's penny Bread and Cheese,  
And see the Slaves like Clowns in Sussex, come,  
And cry, Dame where is your Husband? at home?  
Shall double Drink place to feeling so give?  
 be Madam Creswel, and not Miss Keeling?   

Quoth Mistress Fough, 'twould be a stinking life,  
If I were not Master Gold finders Wife;  
If farewell Charter, then farewell to all  
The good Nobility of Pin-makers Hall,  
Stand to your Arms, both Life and Limb shall go  
To save our Honour and our Charter too.   

A Reverend Matron, in whose Loyal face,  
Was every touch of Modesty and Grace,  
Hearing the Grievances, ventured the Crowd,  
And thus she spoke, and thus their Ears they bowed;  
‛ Dear Sisters of the Livery, appease  
‛ The boisterous bellows of your Passions cease;  
‛ You know that oftentimes untimely fears  
‛ Unform the Men, and them transform to Hares,  
‛ And Jealousy's our Sex's cursed Spell,  
‛ Transforms us Angels to the Hags of Hell.   

The last old Charter which you so deplore,  
Was granted to us in the days of Yore,  
And many an odd thing was in't; 'twas done  
When th' Land with Popery was overrun,  
And now by Law 'tis so repugnant found,  
That th' Law itself is in that Charter drowned;  
But there's another in the Mint for You,  
According to your hearts desire, New, New;  
Not after the old Superstitious Fashion;  
But New, according to the Reformation:  
For we that were but Mistresses before,  
Shall now be Masters, Lords, and something more;  
Moreover 'tis provided, all the Geese  
In London shall have two Ganders apiece;  
Double man'd; And if that be not satis,  
You shall have your Boys on Sundays Gratis,  
This said, they shout, and made the Welkin ring;  
Cried, Damn th'old Charter, and God save the King.    

A Character of London-Village.  By a Country Poet. 

A Village! Monstrous! 'Tis a mighty Beast,  
Behemoth, or Leviathan at least;  
Or like some Wilderness, or vast Meander,  
Where to find Friends one long enough may wander.  
The Towering Chimneys like a Forest show,  
At whose low Branches do Balconies grow.  
When I came there at first, I gazed round,  
And thought myself upon Enchanted Ground;  
Or else that I (in Rapture being hurled)  
Was lately Dead, and this was th' other World.  
But was surprised with Doubts, and could not tell  
Which of the two 'twas, whether Heaven or Hell:  
The Noise and Shows my Eyes and Ears invade,  
By Coaches, Cries, and glittering Gallants made.  
My Reason was convinced in a Trice  
That it was neither, but Fool's Paradise;  
Ladies I saw, not Handsome one in ten;  
Great store of Knights, and some few Gentlemen.  
Fine Fellows Flaunting up and down the Streets,  
Where Fop and Flutter each the other Greets;  
Each Mimic Posture does an Ape present,  
While Humble-servant ends the Compliment.  
For Garb and Colour there's no certain Rule,  
Here is your Red, your Blue, your Yellow-Fool.  
Most of these Gallants seem to view Refined;  
The Outside wondrous Gay, but poorly Lined.  
I saw some of them in the Play-house-Pit,  
Where they three hours in Conversation sit,  
Laugh and talk Loud, but scarce a grain of Wit.  
The Ladies to ensnare will something say,  
Tending to show the Brisk Gallants their way,  
But scorn as much to prattle sense as They.  
Here comes a Hero covered close from Air,  
By Porters born in a Silk-Curtain'd-Chair.  
Whose Sire in honest Russet Trailed a plough,  
And with stout flail conquered the haughty mow.  
Next after him, is by six Horses drawn,  
A piece of Logwood, in a Coach alone,  
Looking like Scanderbag on every one.  
Who soon a whispering Bawd softly invites,  
To a new Suburb Miss and there he lights.  
But at some little distance from the place,  
Handsome he seems, all covered over with Lace.  
That nearer shows an old and ugly Face.  
There goes a Brisk Young Lass in a gay Dress,  
Here an Old Drone in Youthful Gawdyness.  
Strange Miracles of Nature here are placed!  
Ill-favoured Wenches, Cracks; some Fair, are chaste.  
The Temperate Sick: Great Drinkers live in Health.  
Here Usurers have Wit, and Poet's Wealth.  
The Coffe-House, the Rendezvous of Wits,  
Is a Compound of Gentlemen and Cits;  
And not all wise, or else their Wits they smother,  
They sit as if Afraid of one another.  
So Pickpocket (when deeper Listers by)  
Budging aloof, disowns the Mystery.  
In comes a Cockt-up Bully, Looking big,  
With Deep-fringed Elbow-Gloves, and Ruffled Wig,  
He turns his Back to th' Chimney with a Grace,  
Singing and Staring in each Stranger's Face;  
Talks Mighty things, his late Intrigues, and then  
Sups off his Dish, and out he struts again.  
And as I Rambled through this Quondam-City,  
I looked on Founding Paul's with Tears of pity;  
But wiping off, with an auspicious Smile,  
Being like to rise the Glory of this Isle,  
Village, for now to you I tell me Tale,  
You have produced a mountain from a dale:  
The Country thought the fire had quite undone ye,  
But now I find you have both Zeal and Money.   

I crossed the Thames much broader than the Brook,  
Where I have bathed, and little Fishes took.  
From Bear-Garden I Westminster mightview,  
And though their Outside looked of different hue,  
Yet therein each is so much Noise and Pother,  
I scarce knew how to difference one from th' other.   

But at the Court indeed I saw great Things,  
The Noblest Subjects and the Best of KINGS:  
These things I did observe, and many more,  
But Tired with the Relation, I'll give over.    

True Loyalty in its Colours: Or a Survey of the Laudable Address of the young Men and Apprentices of the City of London, to His MAJESTY.  

NO Name, because you can't write well? a Fist  
Is a Good Hand, that can write Loyalist.  
Go on Brave Youths, and let your Paper show,  
What Love what Service to your King you ow.  
How well, Now, London, must be Judge of Thee,  
When in thy Sons we find such Loyalty.  
What? Though the Jesuits a brooding lie,  
To hatch for us a Mortal Enemy;  
Loyal Addresses shall like thunder kill,  
The Poison-gathering Viper in the Shell:  
And quickly make the Factious Gang leave off,  
To Lace their Coffee with Seditious Stuff.  
The Roul contains most Trades, who Swear they'll be  
One Man t'oppose their Prince's Enemy.  
Th'Ingenuous Apothecary makes up a Pill;  
And Swears, it knows both how to Salve and Kill,  
The Keen edged- Barber with his Razor votes,  
Instead of Cutting Beards, to Cut their Throats.  
The Shoemaker protests he'd rather choose,  
To wind Cord for their Necks, than for their Shoes.  
The Cobbler too would meddle with the Fools;  
And would instead of Soles, Translate their Souls.  
The Nimble Tailor swears each Finger itches,  
To cut their Coats more than to sow their Breeches.  
The brisk Upholsterer swears by his Feather,  
Their Souls and Bodies he will Quilt together.  
The Damning Vintner Vows next time to bring,  
Confounded wine to them that hate his King.  
The Greasy Butcher Swears by's Ox's Head,  
That at one Blow he'll strike Sedition Dead;  
Then Cut it open, Quarter it, and Treat  
The Devil with a Dainty Dish of Meat.  
The Cockt-up Haberdasher briskly debates,  
For Brushing of their Coats instead of Hats.  
The Artificial Surgeon fain would Box 'em,  
And send them all to Hell with a Pox to 'em.  
The Cook cries cram 'em in my Pot's Belly,  
And I will stew their Rump-Beef to a Jelly:  
A Carpenter comes in with a few Cringes,  
And fain would have 'em Hanged upon new Hinges.  
Then a Hot▪ Bell-Founder cries out of Spite,  
They dead my Trade let them be hanged outright.  
But the sly Broker Vows he does not dare  
Venture his Coin on such deceitful Ware.  
Next unto him comes the ruff Bricklayer,  
And he's for Building up the Common Prayer:  
The Loyal Coachman this Sentence Broaches,  
I am for making Plotters draw my Coaches.  
The Brazier is for Burning them, to see  
What Mettle afterwards they'll prove to be.  
The Strong-Water-Man would be at Stilling,  
Of their ill Humours, not at Killing.  
Then comes the Lawyer hatching of some Evil,  
And fain would bring him into Bond with th' Devil;  
But says the Attorney, Let 'em make (uds luds)  
An Execution t' me of Body and Goods.  
The Rare-loyal Weaver makes a pother,  
To have 'em Kicked from th'one side to the other.  
The Goldsmith likes 'em best, for well he knows,  
Such Mettle both for Gold and Silver goes.  
They'll take what stamp we please, they are such Witches;  
A Caesar's Head as well as Oliver's Breeches.  
Last comes a Printer, (and says) Let me Die,  
If I don't brand 'em to Eternity:  
I will transfer to future Age their Plot,  
And what Reward their cunning Coleman got:  
I will Transprint King Charles his Death, and bid  
The Children Weep, for what their Fathers did,  
Papists and Factious, both shall go to Pot,  
While the True Loyally Draws a better Lot.    

Loyalty Triumphant: Or a Poem on the Numerous Loyal Addresses to His MAJESTY.  

ROuse up my Muse! For, how in such a Cause,  
Canst thou be Lazy, or admit a Pause?  
Why do not Words flow faster than thy Ink,  
Or forward Verse, scarce give the leave to think  
Thy Pen in such a Cause should Pregnant be,  
To Write thy Fellow-Subjects Loyalty:  
Subjects that dare in spite of Faction show,  
How much they to the best of Princes own;  
That dare in spite of all the Politic Crew,  
Who would the People and their KING subdue,  
Be truly Loyal, Honest, Just, and Good,  
Four things the Others never understood;  
Or if they ever did, have long forgot,  
Since first Sedition in their Hearts took Root.  
Their Leaders Soul, as well as Eyes, do squint;  
And could we search the Heart, the Devil's in't:  
He seems in show, as Loyal as the best;  
But a full Fury Lodges in his Breast.  
Ambition, that Cursed Fiend that fain would Tread,  
Once more upon his Royal Master's Head:  
Nor are his Followers behind in Zeal,  
T'advance the Good Old Cause, and Common-weal.  
Reading the Votes of Parliament, I found  
The KING with honest Men encomiast round,  
Who for the Public Good, did Wisely Vote,  
That He for Tangier should not have a Groat;  
At His own Charge He must the War maintain,  
Or Tangier might be Lost, for He in vain  
Assistance sought from them, unless He'd give  
In Pawn, for it, His own Prerogative;  
And against Nature's Laws cease to Defend,  
An only Brother, and a faithful Friend.  
He must Exclude Him from the English Crown;  
That when Great York they once had tumbled down,  
They might set up an Idol of their own;  
Whom if they cannot manage to their wills,  
And make him Authorize unheard of Ills:  
They'll without scruple hurl them headlong down,  
And tearing from his Brows the tottered Crown,  
Each will be King, and set it on his own.  
Amongst five Hundred Men, some few there were,  
That durst for Loyalty and Truth declare;  
That durst the King's Prerogative Maintain,  
'Gainst Mighty Matchivel, and all his Train:  
But once discovered, they like common Foes  
Or Spies, upon the Actions of the House,  
Are first made Kneel before the Bar, and then  
Our Loyalists such Principles despise,  
Are still contriving how their King may rise,  
How they may make Him Powerful, and Great,  
And in full Splendour keep his Royal Seat;  
Still acting what their cheerful words express,  
Whilst each of them performs a whole Address.  
Oh! may they still persist in doing well,  
Till there be no Tongue left their Deeds to tell;  
That they who did in This their King regard,  
May in the other world meet their Reward.    

The Club of Royalists.  

COme Ganemede, and fill each Glass with Wine,  
Let each Muse Drink her share, then fill up mine:  
I with the Nine will Revel all this night,  
Till Charles his Health bring back the Morning Light.  
But hold a little, Whither am I gone?  
What need I run so far as Helicon?  
Whilst Riding on each Beam, the Sun doth bear  
As Loyal Drinkers as the Muses are:  
For they I fear have caught th'infection too,  
Since their own Sons bravely themselves undo:  
For one who formerly stood Candidate,  
For Wit and Sense with Men of highest Rate:  
Apostatises from his former Acts,  
And from his own Cambyses Fame detracts.  
No more in Verse his Mighty Talon shows,  
But Libels Princes with Malicious Prose.  
This Man in Cornhill if you chance to meet,  
Or near the Middle of Threadneedle-street:  
Know 'tis to pay his Homage to the Sun,  
Or rather to the Hot-brained Phaeton,  
Whom Ovid blames; but he does more commend  
Advising strait the Chariot to Ascend.  
What? Though the world once more were set on Fire,  
Shall his Young Hero bawk his great Desire?  
No, let the Headstrong Youth his Steeds drive on,  
Tread on his Father's Counsels, and his Throne.  
I envy not those happy Men that Ride  
With him in's Guilded Coach, my humble Pride  
Desires no Courser, but a Hoggs-heads Back,  
Where mounted with a Bowl of Sparkling Sack.  
With Russel, Capel, Cooper, and the rest,  
I'll Drink Confusion to each Caballist.  
Damn their Sun-Tavern Clubbs; but hold, my Rage  
Condemns the only Honest Men of th' Age:  
The truest Patriots England ' ere did breed,  
Who Viperlike, on their own Mother feed;  
Tear up their Bowels with a base pretence,  
Of feigned Piety and Conscience:  
Good Gentlemen, how careful are they grown,  
To suppress Papists, and subvert the Throne?  
They for Religion strive, but wise men know,  
From whence their greatest Discontents do flow.  
Zeal for the Good Old Cause inflames their breast,  
But the chief Fuell's, Private Interest.    

The Dissenter truly Described.  

WHat shall a glorious Nation be overthrown  
By Troops of Sneaking Rascals of our own?  
Must Civil and Ecclesiastic Laws,  
Once Truckle more under the good Old Cause?  
Shall these Ungrateful Varlets think to Live,  
Only to Clip Royal Prerogative?  
Shall all our Blood turn Whey, whilst we do see  
Men both Affront, and Stab the Monarchy?  
I'm all inflamed with a Poetic Rage,  
And will Chastise the Follies of the Age.  
Thoughts crowd so fast upon me, I must write  
Till I've displayed the Gaudy Hypocrite.  
He's one that scarcely can be called a Man,  
And yet's a Pious, Holy Christian.  
He's big with Saving Faith (he says) yet He  
Has not one spark of common Charity.  
'Gainst Reason he perpetually whines,  
Because it Contradicts his Black Designs.  
He disesteems dull Morals; for a Saint  
My wellbeloved Brethren must not want.  
Soul-warming Thoughts; so warm that they did dwell,  
First in the Womb, then at the Breasts of Hell.  
He Flouts the Common Prayers, yet the poor Fool  
Himself, not Them, does turn to Ridicule.  
He hates a Form, yet loves his dear Nonsense;  
Nauseats his God with his Impertinence.  
With Eyes turned up, Mouth screwed, and Monkey-face,  
He loudly bawls to God for Saving Grace.  
With Mien so base, and scurvy, as if even  
His Apish Postures only would please Heaven.  
And then his sniveling Tone, to the most High,  
He does conclude, is Curious Melody.  
If Things succeed not as his Humour would,  
He straight grows Angry, and he Huffs his God?  
And this (as if God knew not what to do.)  
And that would have been for thy Glory too.  
Then Muffled in his Cloak, Roger gins  
In's Sermon, to dawb forth, Soul-killing-sins;  
Murder, and Theft, and Pride, and Gluttony, etc.  
Which in their Lives none more Applauds than Herald  
Yet if you do survey the List with care,  
You'll quickly find Rebellion is hid there.  
And when he's pressed to Duties for some Hours;  
He ne'er puts in The Higher Powers.  
At Surplice, and Lawn-sleeves, he takes offence,  
Because they are the Types of Innocence;  
For that he hates, and with It men of Sense.  
The Reverend Prelates he still vilifies,  
'Cause they detect his cursed Villainies.  
Hang them, they bark, come let us pull them down,  
For this same Mitre does support the Crown.  
They're the King's truest Friends, yet thought it good,  
To drown his Kingdoms in a Sea of Blood.  
They the King's Person would protect, they said,  
Yes, yes, forsooth by Cutting off his Head;  
And this they did, inspired by Zeal alone,  
To fasten Christ in his Triumphant Throne.  
As if Damned Lies, False Oaths and base Deceit,  
Propped up his Throne, and made him truly Great.  
As if the Devil himself that acted them,  
Did bring the Luster to His Diadem.  
Nay, they go on yet with the same Intents,  
By moulding to their Minds New Parliaments.  
Some of the Great, they by their whimsies guide,  
To like their Treason, and to stem their Pride.  
In other things, like methods they pursue,  
For even the Shrieves must be fanatics too.  
The Judges too, they'd to their Party gain,  
Did they want either Honesty or Brain,  
And when their Wheedling Tricks do fail on these,  
They poison soon some Country Justices.  
Then had they once the dear Militia,  
They'd mount the Saddle, and make Charles obey:  
Thus first they'd make Him but a very Straw,  
And then at List control, and give Him Law.  
In fine, they are the Foes of Royal State,  
Order is the great Object of their Hate.  
Nor God, nor Men, these Furies seek to please,  
They'd bruise the Crown, and tear our Surplices.  
They'd Undermine the Church's Harmony,  
And Ride a full Carrier to Popery.  
They all Mankind, except Themselves Despise,  
Chief the Great, for being Good and Wise.  
Some Subtle have, and some have Giddy Souls,  
Some Fools, some Knaves, and some are Knaves and Fools.  
These Vermin would even the best things command,  
And suck all the Sweetness of the Land.    

The Loyal LITANY.  

FRom a new modelled Jesuit in a Scotch Bonnet,  
With a Mass under's sleeve and a Covenant on it,  
From Irish Sedition blown out of French Sonnet,  
Libera nos Dom.   

From Conspiring at Joe's and Caballing at Mews  
From Sr. Guts holy Tub of Uncircumcised Jews,  
From Gibbet and Halter which will be their deuce,  
Lib. etc.   

From a Parliament-man raked out of th● Embers,  
From Knights that haunt Counters and Lunatic Members,  
From Presbyt. Januaries, and Papists Novembers,  
Lib. etc.   

From hugging a Witch and consulting the Devil,  
From Welsh Reprimands which are something uncivil,  
From the Touch of a Scot to cure the King's-evil,  
Lib. etc.   

From the mutinous Clamours of such as raise fears,  
From those that would set us together by the Ears,  
Who still for the Shipwreck of Monarchy steers,  
Lib. etc.   

From Rebellion wrapped up in a Humble Petition,  
From the Crafty Intrigues of a Suttle Politician,  
From a Geneva Divine and a Staffords Physician,  
Lib. etc.   

From serving Great Charles as his Father before,  
And Disinheriting of York without why or wherefore,  
And from such as Absalon has been, or more.  
Lib. etc.   

From Libelling the Government and Actions of Kings,  
From Vindicating Sectaries in Illegal Things,  
From Encouraging Faction which Rebel. brings,  
Lib. etc.   

From Murmuring for sending the Parliament home,  
From choosing fanatics to sit in their Room,  
That the Actions of Forty may not be our doom,  
Lib. etc.   

From late Irish Massacres by Paptsts done,  
From Seditious Cut-troats which thing is all one,  
From murdering the Father and banishing the Son,  
Lib. &c:   

From putting three Towns to the Sword in Cool Blood,  
From robbing and spoiling the Land for its Good,  
From Cloaking their Crimes by a Warrant from God,  
Lib. etc.   

From shrouding all Villainies under the Cause,  
From making us happy by giving Sword Laws,  
From Trampling o'th' Mitre and Crown with Applause,  
Lib. etc.   

From Hunting the King and abjuring his Race,  
From Cleansers of Bung holes usurping his place,  
From Preachers in Tubs that are void of all Grace.  
Lib. etc.   

From Vulcan's Treasons late forged by the Fan,  
From starving of Mice to be Parliament-man,  
From his Copper Face thet outface all things can,  
Lib. etc.   

From Unbridling the Faction the King to dismount,  
From giving for each thing to Subjects account,  
From letting P's Domineer as they were wont.  
Lib. etc.   

From Voting Lords useless and dangerously Ill,  
From hanging of Bishops up for dropping the Bill,  
From letting fanatics have too much of their Will,  
Lib. etc.   

From purging the House to obstruct our free choice,  
From Resolving the King to Oppose with one Voice,  
From such that at Mischief do daily rejoice,  
Lib. etc.   

From all the Seditious that love not the King,  
From such as a Civil War once more would bring,  
Deliver us good Lord, let each true Subject sing,  
Lib. etc.    

The Fanatic Rampant: Or an Election at Cambridge.  

ONE day I heard a zealous shout,  
I then looked up, and lo the Rout  
Of Saints were come to Town.  
Who by their Hats right gravely set,  
And Collar-bands, I guess were met  
To cry the Bishops down.   

But see how grossly I did err,  
For they came only to prepare  
Against that Codly bustle.  
And therefore did most fervently,  
With Carnal Throats extended cry,  
A Russel, yea, a Russel.   

Some cried a Russel, some again  
Mistook the Name, and cried Amen.  
Some with erected Fist,  
Cried, O, we find by Revelation,  
That this is He must heal the Nation  
And hamstring Antichrist▪   

At length there comes me a Freeholder,  
With Head inclined to the Left Shoulder,  
And Circumcised Hair.  
Who with his Snout all wet with Snivel,  
And looks enough to scare a Devil,  
Did thus begin his Prayer.   

Lord, if thou dost thy Saint's regard,  
Look on the Keepers of thy Herd,  
Even on thy chosen Russel.  
See but what honour we have done him,  
And then, thou needs must pour upon him,  
Thy blessings by the Bushel.   

Thy tender Flock, Lord, he'll not pound  
But doth regard the Poor.  
Lord he hath done more for my Wife  
Than e'er I did in all my Life,  
O blessed Senator.   

Do thou in time his Worship bring,  
To be, to be, a Lordish thing;  
As was his Noble Kin—  
Thou seest how He alone doth stand,  
And hates the great ones of the Land.  
O well doth he begin.   

Then give him Grace Lord not to cease  
Till he hath broke the Cord of Peace,  
That Girdle of the Whore.  
That we again may see that day.  
In which we all may preach and pray.  
And then I'll ask no more.   

With rhat I spied an Image fair,  
High mounted in his stately Chair.  
I think to mock the Pope.  
Down Brethren to the Gallows gang;  
Said I, he shall not burn, but hang.  
Though I pay for the Rope.    

Poor Robin's Dream: Or the Visions of Hell.  

WHen th'charming News had passed Charing Cross,  
And they deposed that would dismount that Horse.  
The Senators their hated patience forced,  
As Thames once for Sempronia stopped her course.  
Like Boys that were just from a Vineyard scared,  
All stood amazed, but ne'er a word was heard.  
But when they found they were pursued by none,  
But th' Master stood only to keep his own.  
They then unto their wont Passion flew,  
And swore they'd prove those Grapes to be their due,  
Next time they came they'd have their Master too  
I'th' City. All their steady-Heads they tossed,  
Like Wives at Billingsgate, when a good Bargain's lost.  
Ballads of grief about the Town they sent,  
As if they lost a Loyal Parliament.  
Such clamorous Consternations, with safe Cries,  
Enough to tear great Jove down from the Skies.  
None daring to confront those Factious Atheists,  
Dreading the scand'lous Name they call Church-Papists.  
Then I e'en laid me down upon my Bed,  
Where sundry Contemplations seized my troubled Head.  
In a trembling Trance I on a sudden fell,  
Wherein I saw that damned Den called Hell.  
Where ten thousand Sons, with Legions of black Fiends,  
Of burning Reb. there they made their Skreens.  
Old Noll and Bradshaw, Ireton and Pride,  
Burning like Beacons; on the other side.  
Then perjured Rogues, drawn up in arched Rings,  
Their Tongues like Serpents, showed their flaming Stings,  
Thought I, is this the fruit of kill Kings?  
When that Scene changed, methought I clearly saw,  
A solemn Conventicle groan out yells of woe.  
Their Hats pinned to their heads with fiery nails,  
Their Ears drawn out as large as Spanish Frails.  
Their Eyes like oval Lanterns; glowing Rolls,  
Or flaming ●lambois from their treacherous Souls.  
Their Mouths unto their ugly Ears were drawn,  
Spirits frothed out, like poisoned, foul Frogspawn.  
Upon their Backs was writ in Blood, I see,  
Damned for Rebellion and Hypocrisy.  
'Mongst this prodigious and confused Throng,  
The Holder forth was called Dr. Tonge;  
Who so excelled, Hugh Peter being there,  
That he was forced to fall into the Rear.  
Till interposed by a Champion stout,  
With flaming Sword made way through th' hellish Rout.   Bedlow. 

And cried to Tongue thou damned Orator,  
Thou art the cause of my Soul burning here.   Tonge. 

Why what wast thou when first I did thee know?  
But one condemned for Robbery by the Law.   Bedlow. 

Why what wast thou poor Fool in Forty one?  
But a poor Weaver just leapt from thy Loom.  
Then stepped into a Tub to preach Sedition,  
And tookst the Covenant for thy Commission.  
Which thou pursuedst till all the Rump was ruined,  
And Charles returned, and to his Right resumed.  
And then thou mad'st a Breech of thy own Mouth,  
Swor'st back again, but never preachedst Truth,  
And in thy Age, more treacherous, than in youth:   Tonge. 

That cannot be imputed Perjury,  
To swear for those that rule by Tyranny.  
Or for any else, as Times may turn by fits,  
That's but a Knack of living by one's Wits.  
But I ne'er Robbed upon the King's Highway,  
Nor boasted on't unto my Friends next day.  
Nor I ne'er feigned myself to be a Lord,  
Nor pilfered Coin without the help of Sword,  
Nor ne'er was proved perjured by Record.   Bedlow. 

Thou damned Hellhound, hast thou now forgot,  
Who was so active in the Popish Plot?  
'Twas Thou that patched up our Depositions,  
And then delivered them without Commissions.  
Which thou mad'st him pretend he had dispersed,  
Then thou thyself turned Tail and was released.  
Yet still thou didst persevere in thy Sin.  
Taught Tony and the rest to bring me in.  
To meet you at Cabals, and Foxes-Hall,  
Where I received my Lessons from you all.  
You taught me what to speak, who to impeach,  
All Loyalists you brought within my reach.  
Both Queen and Duke ● to the Block must bring,  
Nay— had I'lived, I must have peacht the K—  
Now who's the cause of my Soul's suffering?   Tonge. 

All this I own was Truth, and ten times more,  
But thy black Soul was damned long before.  
Thou hadst committed Murder, Theft and Rape,  
So 'twas impossible thy Soul should 'scape.  
For hadst thou lived till each true string had twanged,  
Thou then hadst surely been both damned and hanged.   Bedlow. 

Thou splay mouthed ●iend, I hold thy words in scorn,  
Thou deserv'dst hanging long  I was born.  
Thou and thy Brother Baxter, Spawns of Evil,  
Who kept your correspondence with the Devil.  
And spewed your poison over Three brave Nations,  
And brought in Oats to all their Desolations.  
The Devil taught you how to tutor Cooper,  
And Belzebub himself his Over-looker.  
One Paw upon the Tap holds in the Bung,  
The other guides his tottering Head and Tongue.  
And cries, My Tony thou shalt live to see  
England's Destruction, and its Monarchy,  
And my chief Engine, Tony, thou shalt be.  
And of all the Plots and Sham-p. thou art Father,  
And all the Evidence thou'st patched together;  
For which Indulgence I'll inspire thee still,  
And thus the Devil helps old Matchiavel.   Tonge. 

Why? Tony was the cause of my Damnation,  
It was his malice that inflamed the Nation.  
'Twas He, under pretence of doing good,  
That squeezed poor Innocents', and broached their blood.  
'Twas He that made his Grace a stalking Horse,  
And hide himself behind his pocky Arse.  
'Twas He that taught Tub-Preachers to seduce  
The People, to choose Membes for their use.  
Such as in the late Rebellion played their parts,  
And now are downright Rumpers in their hearts.  
To all the Olivarians that are living,  
His damned Documents he is daily giving.  
'Tis He that all the Rebels now controls,  
For fear they should repent and save their Souls.  
Or rather that they may come boldly on,  
By force of Arms to end what he begun.  
Or else his head must fly for what is past,  
And's Tap must burst, to show his Soul is cursed.   Bedlow. 

For Godfrey's death, 'twas thou perswadedst me  
To come in Guilty; that black Perjury  
Doth gnaw my Soul in these Infernal Flames,  
That guiltless Blood cries Vengeance through my veins,  
And showers upon me in perpetual streams.  
I swore that of that murder I did know  
A Man that in my life I never saw,  
Yet three men's Lives I took by perjured Law.   Tonge. 

Tony and Godfrey's Brother that contrived,  
To make the forged Plot the more believed.  
The truth of which they never yet would tell,  
Neither Oats, nor us that're now in Hell.  
If e'er that stifled Murder be unveiled,  
Old Tony's mouthing Gang will soon be quailed.  
And those Cabals which daily now devise,  
As th' old one dies, to make new Plots to rise.  
They'll then disperse, left they all be trepanned,  
And their wise heads forsake their souls thats damned.   Bedlow. 

Thou now speakest like a Subject when 'tis too late,  
Or one that knew not what they would be at.  
'Tis their ambition to be thrown in Goals,  
'Twould raise the Rout if Habeas Corpus fails.  
Then Tony ' l grieve▪ and prog about for ●oin,  
T' encourage his possessed Herd of Swine.  
Lurk in his hole to see 'em stand Tail to Tail,  
But ne'er come out, till he finds who'll prevail.   Tonge. 

When he was young he never durst to fight,  
But in malicious mischief took delight.  
For when the Nation flowed with Blood before,  
Tony was always thirsting after more.  
How many thousand Pound this Plot has cost him,  
To buy the bloods of those that never crossed him?  
When he has got poor Innocents' condemned,  
By his patched Evidence, how eagerly he'll send  
To those that have most interest in the Rout?  
He'll hire them t'come to force the Prisoners out,  
To see them sacrificed before his Snout.  
Which they'll soon do, or else break down their hold;  
For why are Toney's Cattle bought and sold?  
While they are butchering, old Tony flears,  
For more such Bargains smells with both his ears.  
Toney hired Arn— for to cut's own Throat,  
Arn— was cunning did but half the Joke.  
Yet kept his Money and remained his Debtor,  
And promised him the Lives of some were better.  
Tho Tony's sides have several Teer of holes,  
He lusts after Bodies as the Devil after Souls.  
For if e'er this Trade of Papist-hanging's ended,  
He'll bring in Presbyter and Independent.  
Both Care and Curtis, Smith and pillored Ben,  
After the best, he'll hang the worst of men.  
All that his Pate hath drawn in to support him,  
He'll hang them all, if Fate do ever thwart him.  
Both Lords and Evidence that's now for him,  
Nay perhaps his Grace who now he's making K.  
Or those who all this prosecution commence,  
He can hang them with the same Evidence.  
Should he have lived till such a Change broke  
To save himself he would have hanged us both.  
He's such a Knave, and They such silly Elves,  
When he has a mind, he'll make 'em hang themselves.   Bedlow. 

Heart, Blood and Wounds, would he have hanged up Bedlow?  
Oh that my Lady Mother did but know  
That cursed Cannibal? had I lived two years longer,  
I'd have hanged him that rotten damned Whoremonger.  
Let's out of Hell, the Porter we can bribe,  
We'll bring him Tony's Soul, or some of that damned Tribe.  
We'll tell the King that Tony is the cause,  
Of all this Plotting, and subverting Laws.  
That Tony is so treacherous, and so apish,  
That he's the Head of all the plotting Papists.  
For 'twas his Plot, and none but he contrived it,  
And he's the Rogue that ever since revived it.  
Each Prison round the Town he searches duly  
For Evidence to reeommend to Rowly.  
But takes such pains to teach each tother's Chapter,  
As a man to make a Spaniel Dog a Setter.  
Which must impeach Bishop and Judges too,  
And all that for the King withstand his Crew.  
The Courtiers he corrupts till they're discarded,  
Then by his Tribe for him they must be guarded.  
While he sits at the Helm to guide Sedition,  
All legal Laws he counts mere Superstition.  
He sits environed round with Brother-Vipers,  
Who imitates his Nods like Scotch Bagpipers.  
Pendent and Biter, and Mare-frigging Quaker,  
Keep time, Tony, that brave Law Bear-baiter.  
For he united them to stand together,  
'Gainst all that's Lawful, Loyal, or whatever  
That's direct opposition to the Crown,  
To pull the Bishop and Monarchy down.  
But he illustrates his grave Dispute,  
By acquaint Objections, coined against the Duke.  
'Gainst him his Bristles hath long time stood snarling,  
Yet cannot spit his Poison beyond Sterling,  
Can he wrench out that Pillar of the State,  
He thinks the rest would fall in's hands by fate,  
What a graceful Noll old Tony then would make?  
Just like a Monkey he'd become the Throne.  
His Court Buffoons and Pugs of the same Spawn.  
Then Tony would be sure that all's his own.  
Can he persuade the King to sell his Brother,  
He'd never break his Brains to find another.  
To keep Sedition and support the State,  
Tony himself would be Legitimate.  
Let's give the King this Caution, for 'tis true.  
That he in time may do what's best to do.   

With that a thundering noise their Contract broke,  
The Den was darkened with infernal Smoke,  
Horror of yells and groans the Spirits strains,  
Till on a sudden all flashed out in flames.  
In which she Conventicklers sprawling cried,  
For all Eternity must this abide?  
With that a shower of Blood fell down upon 'em,  
In which they spewed & stunk like Reb. dam'em  
For 'twas the blood of Innocents' they'd drawn,  
When they lived here, to make the K. their own.  
Some of the Heads were hanged up by the Tong.  
The rest the Devils pitch about with Prongues.  
To make way for approaching great Procession,  
Which howled & roared without an Intermission.  
Their Tongues hung out with Froth like lathering Soap,  
These were the Rabble burning of the Pope.  
'Mongst whom were Curtis, Harris Smith & Care,  
The Scene was just like that at Temple-bar.  
Both Pope and Pageants, Jeffreys and the Friars,  
Of these that did support them and the Rout,  
But there they roared, & here they used to shout.  
Both Squibs and Crackers from their mouths did fly  
'Gainst Church and State, they belched out Blaspemy.  
Their Skins were veiled with City-Mercuries,  
Seditious Libels and their forged Lies.  
Which taking fire at once made such a smother,  
Down fell the Pageants, Rout, and all together  
Did sprawl, and howl in that infernal Flame,  
Then I awaked, and all was but a Dream.    

A DIALOGUE betwixt the Devil and the Whigs.  

Now, Reader, tell me, if you can,  
Which is the Devil, who the Man;  
For if a Tekelite be a Turk,  
They both do (All) the Devils Work.   Whigs. 

WE have pursued those Plots thou didst invent,  
And made our Parties in a Parliament,  
And to no purpose, what can we do more?  
Thou lettest the Tories in, yet keep'st the Door.   Devil. 

When aught doth not succeed, you first blame Me,  
Amongst yourselves Ye never did agree:  
Your Wise-false-brethrens have undone your Cause,  
And from no Subjects, slaved you to the Laws.   Whigs. 

We know no Laws but those ourselves do make  
And Hanging ne'er confess (All) for Thy sake:  
Thou knowst what we have done, and more would do,  
But dealest with us, as Witches, and leav'st us so.   Devil. 

My Power is to Incline, not to Compel,  
You are the Ministers to Act for Hell;  
But do not send me those I did expect,  
Through your base Cowardice, or Fools neglect.   Whigs. 

Can We do more than Thou; We killed a KING.  
And his Best Subjects did to Judgement bring:  
We sent them hence, when they were under Ground,  
We thought all Flesh, was in the Devil's Pound.   Devil. 

You speak as you believe, were it not so,  
Thousands of you might unto Heaven go;  
But Your Association with Me  
Will keep us Friends to all Eternity,  
And never be reproached for Perjury.   Whig. 

Thou the first Rebel, taught'st us to Rebel,  
Surely Thou needest no Company in Hell.  
Thou shamd'st Us in Contriving of this Plot,  
That GOD himself would oversee the Blot,  
Because that in his Name it was Begot.   Devil. 

There is a Bard as strange as is his Name,  
A Power you know not, who hath raised his Fame,  
'Tis He, whose Wisdom Countermined your Arts,  
And on yourselves returned your poisoned Darts.   Whig. 

That Devil Observator, Oh! 'tis He  
We would not see (GOD) in His Company:  
Our very Thoughts, He seemed to know so well,  
They were in Print, before they were known in Hell   Devil. 

His Daemon circle's Him, I cannot Kill,  
Nor Hurt him, so much as to shake his Quill,  
He Writes such Truths, and Speaks such Sacred Things.  
The Church's Champion, and the Guard of Kings.   Whig. 

Though Thou Confess, Thou canst not yet Repent.  
No more than We; Then down when we are sent,  
There curse the Fates, who spin so long his Thread  
That he will live, to see our Children Dead.   Devil. 

Take Comfort yet, the Blood that You have spilt,  
No more Age can parallel your Gild.  
I did corrupt the Mobile of Heaven.  
You did the like on Earth; now We are even.   

This Kindness I will do; Over my Furies,  
I'll make You Precedents, Judges, or Juries.    

A Congratulatory Poem to Sir John More Knight, Lord Mayor Elect of London.  

NO sooner doth the Aged Phoenix die,  
But kind indulging Nature gives Supply;  
Sick of her solitude she first retires,  
And on her Spicy Deathbed than expires:  
Thus unconcerned, Sir Patience now declines  
The Sword, and all his Dignities resigns;  
Next under God and Royal Charles, 'twas He  
Defended persecuted Liberty.  
When the fierce fury of the Romish Flood  
Broke out beyond its limits, He withstood  
The threatening Deluge of the angry Main,  
And forced its beating Billows back again;  
His circumspection seasonably reads  
The dark Intrigues of vain projecting heads:  
He could all Foreign Maladies resent,  
And equally Intestine Broils prevent.  
But now, as dying Parents first commend  
Their Issue to th' tuition of a Friend,  
And then, as if their chiefest care was past,  
Pleased with the Settlement, they breathe their last:  
So he perceiving busy Date appear,  
That with a Period will close his year,  
Contentedly resigns his dying Claim,  
To the Successor of his Charge and Fame;  
One whose wise Conduct knows how to dispense  
Rigour to Gild, and help to Innocence.  
Here we the City's wise Results may scan,  
Their very choice is Metropolitan;  
So Universal their Elections are,  
That England in the Happiness doth share.  
On then great Magistrate, and, like the Sun,  
Set with the splendid Glory you begun,  
Disperse such hover Clouds as would benight,  
And Interpose themselves 'twixt Us and light;  
You boldly dare your noble Trust attest,  
Without a base persuading Interest.  
When pleasing Flattery puts on her Charms,  
To take with gentle Arts and soft Alarms,  
Fixed with a gallant Resolution, You  
Uncase the Hypocrite, and bids adieu.  
In this confused and ill digested State,  
Where Plots new Plots, to counterplot, create,  
Trusting to Reasons Conduct as your Guide,  
You'll leave the threatening Gulfs on either side;  
And then erect such Marks, as may appear,  
To caution others from a Shipwreck there.  
'Tis now resolved, the Romanists shall see  
The mean Effects of all their Policy;  
The Puritans will but expect in vain,  
Their Pious Frauds will gull the Land again:  
You, like a great Columbus, will find out  
The hidden Worlds of deep Intrigues and Doubt,  
Whilst to your new Discoveries we give  
Our thanks, such worthless Presents as we have.  
England no more of Jealousies shall know,  
But Halcyon Peace shall build, and Plenty flow,  
And the proud Thames, swelled high, no more complains,   

But smilingly looks on the peaceful Plains;  
No angry Tempest then shall curl her Brow,  
Glad to behold revived Commerce grow,  
Whilst emulous of your Example, We  
Strive who shall most express their Loyalty:  
No Factions shall us from our selves divide,  
More than the Sea, from all the World beside,  
But linked together in one Chain of Love,  
And with one Spring unanimous we'll move;  
That, to our Foes regret, it may be said,  
We are again One Body, and One Head.    

The Car-man's Poem; Or, Advice to a Nest of Scribblers.  

Carmen turn Poets now, why may not I?  
Then Horse, and Cart, and Whip, stand you three by:  
Nay, but I lack my Whip to lash those ,  
That by their Scribbling bid the Kingdom Battle.  
Would I could lash you with such mighty force,  
As I have used to lash my drudging Horse.  
It's the dull Satyrs of this envious Age,  
That puts my Fancy in so great a rage;  
They swarm in every Street, in every Shop,  
They are the Froth of every idle Fop.  
He that has nought to do, takes Pen and Ink,  
Calls for some Paper, and a Pot of Drink,  
And then the Maggot works, and Noddle rings,  
And they'll not spare the best of British Kings;  
Malice, and Pride, and Drink are all agreed,  
Then drive on, Car-man; but none cries, God speed.  
Their wicked Wit's on wheels, but why so fast?  
I am afraid you'll pay for this at last:  
Your headstrong Fancy must be curbed e'er long  
The Judge will make you sing another Song.  
A King's a puny thing in your conceit;  
And all by reason of a shallow Pate:  
A Duke's a Trifle, and Queen's a Toy;  
It's death to you to sing out Viv'le Roy.  
And a grave Bishop, or a learned Dean,  
You do abhor as much as King and Queen:  
Judges are next to nothing in your eye,  
So boldly from all Government you fly,  
That with your dirty, frothy, hair brained Pen,  
You lash your Kings, even like our Common men,  
Touch not the Lords Anointed, it is said;  
But when with Ale and Beer you're muddy made  
When with a little Drink your heads are warm,  
You touch the King, and do his Prophet's harm:  
You rail, abuse, contemn, despise and jeer,  
You lash them like your Horses, without fear:  
It matters not for Sense, be they but Rhimes,  
Then there is hopes they'll suit with these dull Times.  
Away they run to Smith, and he corrects them;  
That's a mistake, he Prints, and he protects them:  
From Friend to Friend they march about the Street,  
And every unbaptised Brother's glad to see't:  
Oh how they shrug their Elbows with delight,  
To see such dangerous things appear in sight:  
He's wise that's bold, the fittest man for th'Times,  
That dare presume to write the worst of Rhimes.  
Hang Sense, that's out of fashion, so is Reason;  
Come let us see you write Sedition, Treason,  
Move for a Commonwealth, cry down the King,  
Another Royal Head to th' Block let's bring▪  
Rail at the Bishops, and the Common-Prayer,  
Abuse the Papists, this is past compare:  
Let us beat down all those too Loyal Elves,  
Then we may hope we shall set up ourselves.  
This is the Language of the Baptist Beast,  
The heart of every Presbyterian Priest.  
Did they but fear a God, they'd love a King,  
They seldom Harp on such a pleasant String:  
They make long Prayers your Houses to devour,  
They'll pray for half a day, and preach an hour;  
They'll Fast in earnest; turn up th' white o'th' eyes,  
Even like a Par●ketto to the Skies:  
They'll walk demurely, chatter like a Saint,  
Their Language is so zealous, smooth and acquaint,  
You would not think that they could act aught ill.  
Much less that they their Sover'ign Lord would kill.  
Give them but power, you'll find them greater Cheaters,  
Than old Noll Cromwell, or his Chaplain Peter.  
What has our Law no limits for our words?  
And shall our Pens cut like two-edged Swords,  
And none regard them? shall our Libels swarm,  
And will no Judge take notice of the harm?  
Seditious Libels surely have a Charm,  
There's not one Judge that dare put forth his Arm.  
Then let our Pamphlets swarm about the City,  
Be deaf, and do not show Conformists pity;  
satire them unto death, the day's our own,  
Our Judges now we find are weary grown:  
Spare neither King nor Subject, let all share  
A like that love the Mass and Common Prayer:  
Come, drive on, Car-man, set thy brains to work,  
And write as if it were against the Turk.  
Puddle-dock Coachman, hold thy Dung-Cart Pen,  
Spurn not against such great and powerful men;  
They do but let you run to your wit's end,  
Now you must pay for what you wrote my Friend.  
Thou that didst sin against both Judge and King,  
And stole the Honey, now must feel the Sting:  
Thy Libels now are all upon the File,  
That swarm like Hornets in a pleasing Isle.   

Imprimis, answer thy Tom Ticklefoot,  
I fear that that will put thee hardly to't:  
Item, remember thy late New-years-Gift,  
Thy Neck thou from this Noose canst no way shift  
Unless it from a twisted Halter be,  
Unto a wooden Noose called Pillory:  
And thy late satire will not be forgotten,  
When Smith and's Anvil are decayed and rotten.  
Judgement has Leaden heels, but without doubt  
At the long run 'twill find the Rabble out:  
Then woe be to ye, better you were choked,  
Than deal with Judges that you have provoked;  
My life for yours they'll stick upon your Skirts,  
And pay you home for all your Jeers and Flirt's:  
You and your hireling Scribblers will repent,  
That their Time, and you your Money spent.  
One witty Jeffreys, and a sharp Recorder,  
Will timely bring you all to better order:  
A Pillory will tell us you were Rogues,  
To write against a Judge so just as Scroggs,  
Whose Worth and Judgement, Wit and Justice flies  
With far more Fame, thanks to your Scribbling Lies    

The Last Will and Testament of Anthony King of Poland.  

MY Tap is run; then Raxter tell me why  
Should not the good, the great Potapsky die?  
Grim Death, who lays us all upon our backs,  
Instead of Scythe doth now advance his Axe:  
And I, who all my life in broils have spent,  
Intent at last to make a Settlement.   

Imprimis, for my Soul (though I had thought  
To have left that thing, I never minded, out)  
Some do advise, for fear of doing wrong,  
To give it him, to whom it doth belong;  
But I, who all Mankind have cheated, now  
Intent likewise to cheat the Devil too:  
Therefore I leave my Soul unto my Son,  
For he, (●s Wise men think,) as yet has none.   

Then for my Polish Crown, that pretty thing,  
Let Mon— take't, who longs to be a King;  
His empty Head soft Nature did design  
For such a light and airy ●rown as mine.   

With my Estate, I'll tell you how it stands,  
Jack Catch ought t'have my , the King my Lands.  
Item I leave the damned Association  
To all the wise disturbers of the Nation,  
Not that I think they'll gain their ends thereby,  
But that they may be hanged as well as I.   

Armstrong (in Murders, and in Whoring skilled,  
Who twenty Bastards gets for one man killed)  
To thee I do bequeath my Brace of Whores,  
Long kept to draw the humours from my Sores;  
For you they'll serve as well as Silver-Tap,  
For Women give, and sometimes cure a Clap.   

H— d my partner in Captivity,  
False to thy God and King, but true to Me,  
To thee some heinous Legacy I'd give,  
But that, I think, thou hast not long to live;  
Besides thou'st wickedness enough in store  
To serve ' thy self and twenty thousand more.   

To thee (young G G —y) I'll some small Toy present,  
For you with any thing may be content,  
Then take the Knife with which I cut my Corns,  
'Twill serve to pair and sharp your Lordsh. Horns,  
That you may rampant M— push and gore  
Till he shall leave your House, and change his Whore.   

On top of Monument let my Head stand  
Itself a Monument, where first began  
The Flame that has endangered all the Land.   

But first to Titus let my Ears be thrown,  
For he, 'tis thought, will shortly have his own.  
I leave old Baxter my envenomed Teeth  
To by't and poison all the Bishops with.  
Item I leave my Tongue to wise Lord N—  
To help him bring his what-de-call-ums forth,  
'Twill make his Lordship utter Treason clear,  
And he in time may speak like Noble Peer.  
My Squinting Eyes let Ignoramus wear,  
That they may this way look, and that way swear.  
Let the Cits take my Nose, because 'tis said,  
That by the Nose I them have always led;  
But for their Wives I nothing now can spare,  
For all my Live's time they have had their share.  
Let not my Quarters stand on City Gate,  
Lest they new Sects and ●actions do create;  
For certainly the Presbyterian Wenches  
In Dirt will fall to Idolise my Haunches;  
But, that I may to my old Friend be Civil,  
Let some Witch make them Mummy for the Deu.  
To good King Charles I leave (though faith, 'tis pity)  
A poisoned Nation, and deluded City,  
Seditions, Clamours, Murmurs, Jealousies,  
False Oaths, Sham-Stories, and Religious Lies.  
There's one thing still, which I had quite forgot,  
To him I leave the Carcase of my Plot,  
In a Consumption the poor thing doth lie,  
And when I'm gone, 'twill pine away and die.  
Let Jenkins in a Tub my worth declare  
And let my Life be writ by Harry Care;  
And if my Bowels in the Earth find room,  
Then let these Lines be writ upon their Tomb.    

An Epitaph upon his Bowels.  

YE Mortal Whigs for Death prepare,  
For mighty Tapski's Guts lie here,  
Will his great Name keep sweet, d'y ' think!  
For certainly his entrails stink.  
Alas 'tis but a foolish pride  
To outsin all mankind beside,  
When such Illustrious Garbage must  
Be mingled with the Common dust.  
False Nature! That could thus delude  
The Cheater of the Multitude;  
That put his Thoughts upon the Wing,  
And egged him on to be a King,  
See now to what an use She puts  
His Noble great and little Guts▪  
Tapski, who was a man of Wit,  
Had Guts for other uses fit,  
Though Fiddle strings they might not be  
(Because he hated Harmony)  
Yet for Black puddings they were good,  
Their Master did delight in Blood:  
Of this they should have drank their fill  
(King Cyrus did not far so ill)  
Poor Guts could this have been your hap  
Sheriff Bethel might have got a snap,  
But now at York his Guts must rumble,  
Since you into a hole did tumble.    

The Case is Altered now: Or the Conversion of Anthony King of Poland, published for satisfaction of the Sanctified Brethren.  

Even as a Lion, with his Paws upreared,  
As he would tear in pieces all the Herd:  
So of late days, you Whigs, as Rampant were:  
An honest Tory scarce to speak did dare.  
Nay, it was almost an offensive thing;  
The Bellman scarce dared cry, God save the King!  
Thou, my dear Titus, and the Popish Plot,  
Didst fire my Zeal, and make my Head so hot,  
That then I whispered loud unto the Nation,  
Now, now's the Nick of Time for Reformation.  
You huffed and hectored at a mighty rate,  
When Parliaments of your own Mettle sat;  
As if you had o'ergrown the King and Laws,  
And were beginning a New Good Old Cause;  
But Remedy in Season did appear,  
And stopped the Fury of your hot Carrear.  
Thus for a while I danced to my own Pipe,  
Till I was grown Association ripe.  
But than Addresses from each County came,  
And Loyalty did soon put out the Flame.  
Then was the time, that Tyburn claimed his due;  
But had it not for want of such as You:  
Yet it had some small satisfaction given,  
By the deserved Death of Traitor Stephen.  
Cabals, and Factious Clubs so rife were grown,  
And old Rebellious Seed so thick were ●own,  
I hoped e'er this the day would be my own.  
In Cough Houses you did domineer,  
And prattled Treason without Wit or Fear.  
Reason and Loyalty you overruled;  
And settled Nations, whilst your Coffee cooled.  
The point you argued with a surly Face;  
And he that did not yield, and give you Place,  
Was termed by you a Tory, void of Grace.  
One House, one Town, one Kingdom scarce could hold  
Tory and Whig, Sir Whig was grown so bold.  
For this Recital, Sirs, pray do not blame us,  
We ne'er baulked Justice by our Ignoramus▪  
No, no, you meant no Harm, I oft was told;  
No more did your Rebelling Sires of old.  
Thus, for a while, with Factious Rage you burned;  
But, Heaven be thanked, the Scales at last are turned:  
The Wheel, at length, is moved a little round,  
And its worst Pieces lowest to the Ground.  
The State has found a way to cool our Favours,  
Quench our new Lights, and curb our strong Endeavours;  
And we are taught Compliance with more ease,  
To What, and When, and how the King shall please.  
We to your Private Meetings now can come;  
And seize your Holder forth, and send you home;  
Meet You at Guildhall, or elsewhere; and then,  
Help You make Choice of Loyal Honest Men.  
The Memory and Name of Moor be blest;  
That Loyal Precedent for all the rest.  
Let Faction cease, and Loyalty get Ground.  
Till not one Whig be in the Nation found:  
Then we'el rejoice, as in the Days of Yore,  
And Salamancka's shall be known no more.    

The King of Poland's Last Speech to his Countrymen.  

I Know, you hope all once to be  
Great Men of Note and Majesty;  
For this our now Supremacy  
Is Nonsense.   

Why should one Man for ever sway  
A Sceptre, (who's but made of Clay?)  
Why may not we ourselves obey  
In Conscience?   

But now 'tis come, Alas, we see,  
That all our Fame turns Infamy:  
Ah! such a thing is Policy  
With Tories.   

The buzzing Jealousies and Fears,  
Into the People's listening Ears,  
For all those many busy years,  
Are Stories.   

Since in late Plots  gone astray,  
'Tis time to look another way,  
And not in such a Case delay;  
'Twill harm us.   

No doubt,  heard of Forty One,  
Of all the Pranks that then were done,  
And of the happy Conquest won:  
Let's arm us;   

And play those very Cards again,  
For all those Ancients were but Men;  
Five Israelites may well beat ten  
Philistines.   

Let's cry Oppression through the Town,  
Oppression of the Court and Gown,  
And raise in Tumult, every Clown  
To Listing.   

We'll first expose the Laws to Shame,  
And next the Loyal Part defame;  
If Good or Bad, they're all the same,  
No odds make.   

Yet let Religion be the Word,  
To shade Rebellion and the Sword;  
Then play the Devil under board,  
For God's sake.   

Then be not wanting in your Lies;  
In Plots and sham's and Forgeries;  
To blind the weak and gazing eyes,  
With Fables.   

But if you would enjoy the Land,  
Let the dark Roman join his Hand,  
He Force and Council can command  
In Cabals.   

Which though it seem as strange as Nile,  
'Tis Lawful to unite in Guile;  
Our Intrest's ne'er the worse that while,  
But further.   

For all their Principles are mine;  
Their Tricks to gild a black Design;  
Their Warrant's to unite and join  
In Murder.   

What if you were not born to Land,  
Or to be Persons in Command;  
'Tis never the worse at second Hand,  
But fashion.   

Is it not base (a Curse) to see,  
When we should live equally,  
Such odds and such Majority's  
I'th' Nation.   

And though we find no fault in State,  
Or any other Potentate;  
Yet those great Names will raise debate,  
And wrath, Sirs.   

Since then 'twill be so good a Feat,  
Let's once (for all) the Work complete:  
For nothing else can make us Great,  
In troth, Sirs,   

My Optics (Friends) almost can see  
A new formed Lump of Anarchy;  
Whilst under foot lies Monarchy,  
And hated.   

Methinks I see those very Men,  
I hate and envy once again,  
From many thousands unto Ten,  
Abated.   

Ah! sweet Revenge, and bold Ambition,  
Infects both Us, and half the Nation;  
The Cause of Wise Association  
So lately:   

And welled may plague us all, to see  
Some, though no better Men than We,  
To live in Pomp for Loyalty,  
So stately.   

I knew when once the Good Old Cause  
Was named aloud with great Applause:  
Blessed times for Liberty! no Laws,  
To fright all:   

Therefore if once it come to Test,  
And we again with Laurel blest,  
The stronger side must be the best,  
At Whitehall.   

And if all Lords you chance to be,  
Who knows what Hell designs for me?  
We'll make our Lives one Jubilee,  
And wonder.   

So being out of Breath, and spent;  
Alas, (said he) much more is meant.  
At last (with Pox) he hurrying went,  
Like Thunder.    

Fitz-Harris his Farewell to the World: or a Traitor's Just Reward.  

FArewel great Villain, and unpitied Lie,  
Instead of Tears drawn from a tender Eye;  
Ten thousand Traitors like Fitz-Harris die.   

Unhuman Monster, to the World ingrate,  
An Enemy to the King, the Church and State;  
Hadst thou been starved, it had been too kind a Fate.   

His Crimes were horrid, Infamous and base,  
Deserves a total extinct of his Race;  
Banish his Name unto some dismal place.   

What's worse than injuring Sacred Majesty,  
For which he suffered on the Fatal Tree;  
May all Men suffer when Robbed of Loyalry.   

England may then be glad, with Triumph sing,  
When all her Foes are vanished with a string;  
The Golden Age from Halcion-days will spring.   

Those Wolves that Plot Protestant Lambs to Gull,  
May Heaven obstruct the Engines of their Scull;  
Give them of Tyburn, good Lord, their Belly full.   

Giddyheaded Youths, have been seduced of late,  
Beyond their Wits, talk of the Affairs of State;  
Obedience learn to avoid Fitz-Harris Fate.  
Those public Libelers with Zeal and Heat,  
With some unheard of Novelty daily treat;  
If they writ falsely, tie them from their Meat.   

Tell th'Ambitious, they be Fools and strive in vain,  
To undermine a Crown, King Charles will Reign:  
To be true and honest is the safest Gain.  
I hope to see Justice at Tyburn done,  
If so, some hundreds may have cause to run;  
Give them what they, deserve, their Thread is spun.   

Bid proud Petitioners good Advice approve,  
Make an Address and in one Body move;  
With all Humility t'gain their Prince's Love.  
I'd sooner lose a Limb, from th' Monument fly,  
Endure the worst of Torments till I die;  
Than willingly deserve my King's displeasing eye.   

London, on thee all flourishing joys descend,  
heavens bless the Government and Governors to the end;  
Unanimous to agree, your Sovereign to defend.   

The Man that burned Diana's Temple down,  
Did it on purpose a Villain to be Crowned;  
'Mongst Rogues (Damned Rogues) he got Renown.   

How many thousands are there in the Nation,  
Mere Knaves, but Saints in private Congregation;  
Love Monarchy, with mental Reservation.  
The Gods rebuke the Error of the Age,  
Let Moderation Tumultuous men assuage;  
But hang all those against their King engage.   

Let all Dissenting Brothers love the King,  
To the Church Unite, 'tis a goodly thing;  
With Brethren to agree, and with Te Deum sing.   

heavens bless his Majecty, with Plenty, Joy and Peace.  
To all that love the King Heavens give increase;  
Confound his Foes to pray I ne'er will cease.   
— Non est Lex justior ulla  
Quam Necis Artificis, Arte perire sua.   

The last and truest Discovery of the Popish-Plot, by Rumsey, West, and other great Patriots of their Country.  

BUt Oh! This late Conspiracy, so Dire  
(By Providence prevented by a FIRE,)  
No Age can parallel; so Black Design  
The fiercest Furies, (could not place a Mine,)  
From their dark Caves, to give so great a blow,  
And at one Burst, Three Kingdoms overthrow!  
Merciless Flames we'll now Innocent call,  
Since Fire's alarm hath preserved Us all;  
Thrice happy Fire of Providence, whose Good  
Was Bonfire for the saving Royal Blood;  
Heaven forced their Safety, drove them from that place,  
That they might live to see a longer Race.  
What desperate despairing damned Crew  
Would Fell the Royal Oaks, plant cursed ●ew?  
Did Shaftsbury descend into the Pit,  
And Pluto's Precedent of War doth fit?  
Are Sheriffs, Juries, and his perjured Slaves,  
All silent Now, as they were in their Graves?  
No; Thou retain'st thy Counsel at the Bar,  
And [Good-enough] to make a Civil War:  
Tho thou canst not return, hast none to send?  
Murder and Treason thou hast left thy Friend:  
Thy Breath, O British Scylla, still remains,  
Whose Poison stagnates your ill Livers Veins;  
Thou damned Achitophel, counseledst a Vote,  
If the KING died, to cut the Tapisis Throat;  
Nay, if a House by accident was fired,  
From Them must Reparation be required.  
Imposture Hypocrites invent a ●lot,  
Deceive the Mobil●e, and League the Scot,  
Then Loyal Innocents' they guilty bring;  
Reserve the Honour yet to Kill the KING.  
The Comets blaze, and the Portents, you know,  
Did signify the Nation's Overthrow;  
And You the Ministers of Fate must be,  
The Hang-men-Murderers of ROYALTY.  
No, Parricides, though you pervert the sense,  
Heaven is not pleased till you are hanged from hence:  
The Stars discover your dark Plots below,  
Your Malice would make Heaven Guilty too:  
Just like old Satan, when he did Rebel;  
He once was good, You never; mend in Hell,  
Since none but You could ever claim a Right  
By horrid Murder to Eternal Night:  
Had you succeeded. Oh what Seas of Blood  
Had drowned the World, and made a second Flood!  
The Horrible Events no Man can think,  
Bloodthirsty men, with drinking, thirst for drink.  
Nothing but Death can quench their Furious Zeal;  
No Plot nor Parliament his Acts repeal:  
Those Lies, confirmed by Oaths and Impudence,  
Were once believed by Men of soundest sense:  
This the deciding Plot 'twixt Heaven and Hell,  
(Though you repent not) shall confess you fell;  
Lucifer-like, you cursed Associates  
Thought yourselves strong enough against the Fates.  
But Providence appears, the Fiends throw down,  
And once again the Royal Ooak does Crown:  
How Gild doth tremble now! How, hid and fly!  
The Innocents' stood still, uncalled, to die:  
Down with your Pillar, there in Rubbish lie,  
The Pyramid of Truth's above the Sky:  
The Sacred Monuments of Wise and Good  
Are washed away from hence, like Noah's Flood;  
But true Tradition shall never die,  
But Blooming still to all Eternity,  
Let all our Prayers, incensed by true Zeal,  
Defend us from Fanatic Commonweal.  
Devils believe, and (when compelled) confess,  
Yet Devils still; Our Criminals no less:  
Not like true Penitents, confess all sin,  
They hid the worst, the Devil's still within;  
What the Scotch-Whig dares not, these Rebels do,  
Both Will and Act into Damnation go,  
Whilst we with Prayers, Offerings of Praise,  
Send our Thanksgivings up for these past days:  
Our days were almost spent; one minute more  
Had made Three Kingd. like a Common-Shore,  
Run down with Royal Blood of Purple Gore.  
Infinite mercy, (wonderfully shown)  
Preserve the Royal Blood upon the Throne;  
And that we may have Blessings, when we sing,  
Glory to GOD, Peace, Health unto the King.    

Poems written by the Right Honourable Henry Lord Arundel of Warder, and Count of the sacred Roman Empire, whilst Prisoner in the Tower.  

I. A Valediction to the WORLD  
HEnce all ye Visions of the World's delight,  
You treacherous Dreams of our deluded  
Passion too long hath seized on Reasons Right, sense,  
And played the Tyrant in her own defence:  
Her flattering Fancies hurried me about.  
To seek content which I could ne'er find out.  
If any pleasure did slide o'er my sense,  
It left a mark of shame when it went thence.  
And when possessed, it relished no more;  
And I remained as Thirsty as before:  
Those pleasant Charms that did my heart seduce  
Seemed great pursued, but lessened in the Use;  
And that false Flame that kindled my Desire,  
E'er I could Taste, the Pleasure did expire.  
But Reason now shall repossess her Throne,  
And Grace restore what Nature had o'erthrown,  
My Better Genius prompts me to declare  
Against those Follies, and to side with Her:  
She tells me 'tis high time to stem that Tide,  
Whose Torrent doth us from ourselves divide.  
Those Brutal Passions do unman our Mind,  
And rule, where Virtue had them Slaves designed.  
Such Usurpation shall prevail no more,  
I will to Reason her just Rights restore:  
And make my Rebel Heart that Duty pay  
To Her, which to my Sense was cast away.  
But this (dear Lord) must be Thy work, not mine,  
Thy Grace must finish what I but design:  
It is Thy Power alone that first doth Move,  
Then give Us Strength to Execute and Love.  
For Nature hath by Custom so prevailed,  
And such Dominion o'er our Sense entailed,  
That we can never hope but by Thy Hand  
To free our Captive Souls from her Command.  
That fatal Liberty which for our Good  
Thou gav'st us, was ill used, worse understood.  
Men made by Reason, not like Beasts, t' obey,  
Losing that Reason, prove more Beasts than they;  
And sure they lose it, when they do dispense  
With their known Duty, to delight the Sense.  
Since than thy Bounty doth my Heart inspire,  
Make me to Do, as well as to Desire:  
Set so my warring Heart from Passions free,  
That it may ne'er love any thing but Thee.  
By thy sweet force my Stubborn heart incline  
To quit my Conduct, and to follow Thine:  
So shall my Soul by double Conquest prove,  
Bought by thy Blood, and conquered by thy Love.   

II. Persecution no Loss.  
WHat can we lose for him, when all we have  
Are but the Favours which his Bounty gave;  
And which, when Losses force us to restore,  
God only takes 'em for to give us more:  
And by an happy Change doth kindly prove,  
He takes our Fortunes but to give us Love.  
How vainly should that Beggar chide his Fate,  
Who quits his Dunghill for a Chair of State:  
So fares it with us, when God doth displace  
The Gifts of Fortune for the Gifts of Grace.  
God on Sufferings set so high Esteem,  
He that way chose the lost World to Redeem:  
And when his Love and Nature were at strife,  
He valued more his Sufferings than his Life.  
And shall Opinion have more power to move  
Than his Example, Doctrine, or his Love!  
Love makes Afflictions pleasing; to complain,  
Lessens our Merit, and augments the Pain.  
Let's humbly then submit to his Design,  
And give that freely which we must resign:  
So shall our Losses prove the best Increase  
Of future Glory, and our present Peace.  
— Which grant for thy ●assion.   

III. On those Words of the Psalm,— God chasti●eth whom he loveth.  
IF then the Earnest of thy Favours be  
Afflictions, good God, let 'em light on me.  
I▪ ll glory more in such a kind Distress,  
Than in all Comforts where thy Love is less.  
And by my Misery I'll make it known  
In spite o'th' World, how much I am Thy own;  
No fruitful Showrs shall by the thirsting Plant  
Be kindlier entertained than Scorn and Want.  
Or Loss of Honour, Fortune or Delight  
Shall be by me; That which did once affright▪  
And filled my troubled Mind with Care and Grief,  
Shall be my future Comfort and Relief.  
I never more will court a smiling Fate  
Since he's so happy, that is desolate.  
Afflictions shall be pleasing, since they come  
Like friendly showers to send us sooner home.  
And by thy love, such Charms are in 'em found  
As cure the Heart; which they intent to wound;  
Such strange Effects doth Grace in us produce  
To change as well their Nature, as their Use.   

iv Considerations before the Crucifix.  
WHen I behold Thee on that Fatal Tree  
(Sweet Jesus) Suffering, and that 'tis for me;  
When I consider in that Purple Flood  
My Sins ebb out, but with thy Life and Blood;  
When I reflect how dear my Soul hath cost,  
I'm moved to wish it rather had been lost;  
For how can that Life please that doth destroy  
The Life of him, by whom we Life enjoy.  
And yet to wish thou hadst not suffered so,  
Were to condemn thy Love and Wisdom too;  
For if we joy in what thy Death hath brought,  
We must allow the pains with which 'twas bought:  
So both our Life and Death unitedly,  
Nature's Life is to have her Maker die.  
It is thy will (dear Lord) must be obeyed,  
And in that Duty both these Debts are paid.  
O let my Soul, in a due measure, find  
A Joy becoming, and a mourning Mind;  
A Joy in thy kind Will, even whilst it made  
Sunshine in Nature by thy Godhead's shade.  
A grief to see the Torments Sin did merit,  
And Man deserved, God should himself inherit.  
That thus divided 'twixt thy Pain and Will,  
We may resign with Joy, and yet grieve still.  
Uniting so these Trophies of thy Love,  
That weeping here, we may rejoice above.   

V Upon the Pains of Hell.  
O Restless Groans! O slothful Tears!  
O vain Desires of fruitless Tears!  
One timely Sighs had eased that Flame,  
Which Millions now do seek in vain;  
Eternal Penance now's thy Fate,  
For having wept and sighed too late:  
That short remorse that thou didst fly,  
Is changed into Eternity;  
Neglected Mercy hath no room,  
When Justice once has fixed his Doom.  
Prevent them timely by thy Care,  
That endless Penance of Despair;  
Then weep betimes, your Tears here may  
Turn Night into Eternal Day;  
It's only they have power to move,  
And turn God's Blessing into Love;  
If by the Virtue of his Grace,  
Thou showest them a proper place;  
Which grant we may for Christ's sake.    

Majesty in Misery: Or an Imploration to the KING of Kings;  Written by His late Majesty King CHARLES the First in his durance at Carisbroke Castle, 1648. 

GReat Monarch of the World, from whose Arm springs  
The Potency and Power of Kings,  
Record the Royal Woe, My Sufferings,   

And teach my Tongue that ever did confine  
Its Faculties in Truth's Seraphic Line,  
To tract the Treasons of Thy Foes and Mine.   

Nature and Law by Thy Divine Decree,  
(The only Work of Righteous Loyalty,)  
With this dim Diadem invested Me.   

With it the sacred Sceptre, purple Robe,  
Thy holy Unction, and the Royal Globe,  
Yet I am levelled with the Life of Job.   

The fiercest Furies that do daily tread,  
Upon My Grief, My Grey Discrowned Head,  
Are those that own My Bounty for their Bread.   

They raise a War, and christian It the CAUSE,  
Whilst Sacrilegious Persons have Applause,  
Plunder and Murder are the Kingdom's Laws.   

Tyranny bears the Title of Taxation,  
Revenge and Robery are Reformation.  
Oppression gains the name of Sequestration.   

My Loyal Subject, who in this bad Season  
Attended me, (by the Law of God and Reason)  
They dare Impeach, and punish for High-Treason.   

Next at the Clergy do their Furies frown,  
Pious Episcopacy must go down,  
They will destroy the Crozier and the Crown.   

Churchmen are chained, and Schismatics are freed,  
Mechanics preach, and Holy Fathers bleed,  
The Crown is crucified with the Creed.   

The Church of England does all Faction foster,  
The Pulpit is usurped by each Imposter,  
Ex tempore excludes the Pater Noster.   

The Presbyter and Independent's Seed,  
Springs from broad blades to make Religion bleed,  
Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.   

The Corner Stone's misplaced by every Pavier,  
With such a bloody Method and Behaviour,  
Their Ancestors did crucify our Saviour.   

My Royal Consort from whose Fruitful Womb,  
So many Princes legally have come,  
Is forced in Pilgrimage to seek a Tomb.   

Great Britain's Heir is forced into France,  
Whilst on his Father's Head his Foes advance,  
Poor Child! He weeps out his Inheritance.   

With My own Power My Majesty they wound,  
In the King's Name the King Himself's uncrownd,  
So doth the Dust destroy the Diamond.   

With Propositions daily they inchant,  
My People's Ears, such as due Reason daunt,  
And the Almighty will not let Me grant.   

They promise to erect My Royal Stem,  
To make Me Great, ● ' advance my Diadem,  
If I will first fall down and Worship Them.   

But for Refusal they devour My Thrones,  
Distress My Children, and destroy My Bones,  
I fear they'll force Me to make Bread of Stones.   

My Life they prise at such a slender Rate,  
That in My Absence they draw Bills of Hate,  
To prove the KING a Traitor to the State.   

Felons attain more Privilege than I,  
They are allowed to Answer e'er they die;  
'Tis Death to Me to ask the Reason why.   

But Sacred Saviour, with Thy Words I woe  
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to  
Such as Thou knowst do not know what they do.   

For since they from the LORD are so disjointed,  
As to contemn the Edict He appointed,  
How can they prise the Power of his Anointed?   

Augment My Patience, nullify My Hate,  
Preserve My Issue, and inspire My Mate,  
Yet though We perish, bless this Church and State.   
Vota dabunt quae Bella negarunt.   

Interrogatories: Or a Dialogue between WHIG and TORY.  Whig. 
WHat is termed Popery?  Tory. 
To Depose a King.  W. 
What's true Presbytery?  T. 
To Act the Thing.  W. 
What's our best way to thorough Reformation?  T. 
By Lies and Fables to embroil the Nation.  W. 
Of Sin, what's greatest?  T. 
Perjury.  W. 
What then of Perjuries the worst?  T. 
By Hired Men.  W. 
What Hired Perjury doth God most abhor?  T. 
That which Religion feigns pretences for,  W. 
When doth this Crime portend a Kingdom's ●all?  T. 
When countenanced 'tis Epidemical.  W. 
What follows from degrading a Successor?  T. 
A Right of next Dethroning a Possessor.  W. 
When shall free Subjects be no more oppressed?  T. 
When once they know what 'tis they'd have redressed.  W. 
When shall sweet Concord our lost Peace repair?  T. 
When Covenant agrees with Common Prayer.  W. 
When shall the Brethren cease to groan?  T. 
When Eighty Two returns to Forty One.  W. 
Of all Mankind, what's the most Injured thing?  T. 
'tis a French Subject, or— (God save King.   

On the Relief of Vienna, a Hymn for the True-Protestants.  

Renowned be Christian Arm,  
The Turkish Whigs be damned,  
And lousy Holwel in their Head,  
Who our blue Saints has shamm'd.   

II.  
These are your precious Rogues!  
Rather than not Rebel  
Against their Lawful Prince, and God,  
They'll join the Devil of Hell.   

III.  
These are your True-blue-men,  
Who Persecution cry,  
When They, with Julian their old Friend,  
The Christian God defy!   

iv  
But he has found an Arm  
To do the Royal Work,  
And vindicate Himself, against  
True-Protestant and Turk.   

V  
'Twas a true Christian Prince  
That made him know His pleasure,  
And taught the Villains what is due  
Both to their GOD and CESAR.   

VI  
God bless our good King CHARLES.  
And JAMES, His own dear Brother;  
And may they both live long, live long,  
To Succour one another.   

VII.  
God bless the King of Poland too,  
And every Christian KING;  
The Name is sacred; Hang the Dogs  
Who do not love the Thing.    

A Narrative of the Popish Plot, showing the cunning Contrivance thereof.  


The Contents of the First Part.  
How Sir Godfrey is killed, his Body they hid,  
Which brought out in Chair, a Horseback does ride,  
How Jesuits disguised our Houses do fire;  
How subtly they Plot, & the King's death conspire;  
Of divers great Lords drawn in to their Bane,  
An Irish Army, and Pilgrims from Spain.   

I.  
GOod People I pray, give ear unto me,  
A Story so strange you have never been told  
How the Jesuit, Devil, and Pope did agree  
Our State to destroy, and Religion so old:  
To murder our King,  
A most horrible thing!  
But first of Sir Godfrey of his Death I must sing;  
For how e'er they disguised, we plainly can see,  
Who murdered that Knight, no good Christian could be.  
The truth of my story if any man doubt,  
 witnesses ready to swear it all out.   

II.  
At , there is plain to be seen  
A Gate which will lead you into the back-Court;  
This place for the Murder most fitting did seem,  
For thither much People be freely resort:  
His Body they tossed  
From Pillar to Post,  
And shifted so often, t'had like t'have been lost;  
To watch with dark-lanthorns the Jesuits did go,  
But no ways disinherited our honest Bedlow.  
The truth of my story, &c,   

III.  
Lest such close Contrivements at length should take air,  
When as his dead Body corrupted did grow,  
They quickly did find an invisible Chair,  
And set him on Horseback to ride at So-hoe:  
His own Sword to th'Hilt,  
To add to their Gild,  
They thrust through his Body, but no Blood was spilt;  
T'have it thought he was killed by a Thief they d d mean,  
So they left all's Money, and made his Shoes clean  
The truth of my story, etc.   

iv  
To show now th'excess of Jesuitical Rage,  
They this Loyal City to ruin would bring,  
'Cause you Citizens are so religious and sage,  
And ever much noted as true to your King:  
T'your Houses they go  
With Fire and with Tow,  
Then pil●er your Goods, and 'tis well you 'scape so;  
 seen how they once set the Town all in flame;  
Yet 'tis their best Refuge, if we believe Fame.  
The truth of my story, etc.   

V  
By Bedlow's Narration is shown you most clear,  
How Jesuits disguised into Houses will creep;  
In a Porter's or Carman's Frock they appear,  
Nay, will not disdain to cry Chimney sweep;  
Or sell you Small-Cole,  
Then drop in some hole  
A Fir-ball, or thrust it up by a long Pole.  
But I now must relate a more tragical thing,  
How these Villains conspired to murder our King.   

VI  
At the White-horse in April was their main Consult,  
Where a Writing these Plotters wickedly frame;  
The Death of our sovereign was the result,  
To which at least Forty all signed their Name:  
They would not do that  
In the place where they sat,  
Trusty Oats must conveyed from this man to that;  
To make sure work, by Poison the deed must be done,   
By a long Dagger, and shot from a Gun▪  
The truth, etc.  

VII.  
For fear at St. Omers their Oats might be missed,  
They agreed with a Devil t'appear in his place,  
In a Body of Air, (believe if you list)  
Which looked just like Oats, and moved with the same grace;  
‛ Tcoued Plot, it could Cant,  
Turn eyes like a Saint,  
And of our great Doctor no feature did want:  
Thus hundred did swear they saw Oats every day.  
But true Oats was here, and the Devil saw they.  
The truth, etc.   

VIII.  
From Father Oliva Commissions did come,  
To raise a great Army much Treasure is spent;  
The Old Man did once think to take Post from Rome,  
For to ride at the Head of them was his intent;  
But Bell●s ' was fit  
(Who can deny it?)  
To command in his place, when his Gout would permit;  
Lord Stafford was proper'st to trust with their pay,  
Old Ratcliff to range them in Battle-array.  
The truth, etc.   

IX.  
Th' High-Treasures place the Lord Powis did  
(Men of  Fortunes oft venture too far;)  
Lord Peter would hazard Estate, and his Ease,  
And Life for the Pope too, in this holy War;  
Lord Ar'ndel, of old  
So warlike and bold,  
Made choice of a Chancellor's Gown we are told;  
All these did conspire with the Lord Castlemain,  
Who now his good Duchess will ne'er catch again.  
The truth of my Story, etc.   

X.  
Great store of wild Irish, both civil and wise,  
Designed to join with the Pilgrims of Spain,  
Many thousands being ready all in good guise,  
Had vowed a long Pilgrimage over the Main:  
To arm well this Host  
When it came on our Coast,  
Black Bills forty thousand are sent by the Post,  
This Army lay privately on the Seashore,  
And no man e'er heard of 'em since or before.  
The truth, etc.    

The Second Part.  

I.  
THe Plot being thus subtly contrived, as you hear,  
To God knows how many this Secret th' fear;  
impart;  
Some famous for Cheats, yet their faith they done't  
To tie a Knave fast they had found a new Art:  
They swore on a Book,  
And Sacrament took;  
But you'll find if into their grave Authors you look,  
To forswear's no sin (as the Recorder well notes)  
Nor Treason, Rebellion, nor cutting of throats.  
The truth, etc.   

II.  
Still blinded by Zeal, and inveigled by Hope,  
Store of Arms they provide for Fight and Defence;  
The Lords must command as Viceroys of the Pope  
And all over England they raise Peter-pences:  
Their Letters they send  
By Bedlow their Friend,  
Or else by the Post, to show what they intent;  
Some hundreds Oats saw, which the Jesuits did write,  
'Tis a wonder not one of them e'er came to light.  
The truth, etc.   

III.  
Pounds two hundred thousand they to Ireland sent,  
Fifteen thousand to Wakem. for Potions & Pills.  
Forty thousand in Fireworks we guess that they spent,  
And at least ten thousand for the foresaid Black Bills;  
Fifteen hundred more  
Grove should have, they swore,  
Four Gentleman Ruffians deserved Fourscore;  
Pious Pickering they knew was of Masses more fond,  
And for thirty thousand they gave him a Bond.  
The truth, etc.   

iv  
These two, to kill the King by promises won,  
Had now watched for some years in St. James' Park.  
And Pickering (who nver yet shot off a Gun)  
Was about to take aim, for he had a fair mark:  
Just going to begined,  
He miss his Flint,  
And look in Pan, there is no Powder in't;  
For which he their Pardon did humbly beseech,  
Yet had thirty good lashes upon his bare Breech.  
The truth, etc.   

V  
But a sadder mischance to the Plot did befall,  
For Oats their main Engine failed, when it came  
No marvel indeed if he cozened them all, to't;  
Who turned him a begging, and beat him to boot.  
He wheeling about,  
The whole Party did rout.  
And from lurking holes did ferret them out,  
Till running himself blind, he none of them knew,  
And fainting at Council, he could not swear true.  
The truth, etc.   

VI  
To strengthen our Dr. brave Bedlow's brought in,  
A more credible Witness was not above ground;  
He vows and protests, whate'er he had been,  
He would not swear false now for five hundred pound:  
And why should we fear  
They falsely would swear,  
To damn their own Souls and lose by it here;  
For Oats, who before had no penny in Purse,  
Discovering the Plot, was 7 hundred pound worse.  
The truth, etc.   

VII.  
Two Witnesses more were let lose from the Jail,  
Though One, 'tis confessed, did run back from his word;  
(In danger of life a good man may be frail)  
And th' Other they slander for cheating his Lord:  
T'each one of these men  
The Jesuits brought ten,  
To disprove 'em in time and in place, but what then  
One Circumstance lately was sworn most clear,  
By a Man who in hopes has four hundred a year.  
The truth, etc.   

VIII.  
Besides 'twas oft urged, We must always suppose,  
To murder the King a great Plot there has been;  
And who to contrive it so likely as those  
Who Murders and Treasons do hold for no sin?  
Things being thus plain,  
To plead was in vain,  
The Jury instructed again and again,  
Did find them all Guilty, and to show 'twas well done,  
The People gave a Shout for Victory won.  
The truth, etc.   

IX.  
'Tis strange how these Jesuits, so subtle and wise,  
Should all by the Pope be so basely trepanned,  
To hang with much comfort when he shall advise,  
And go to the Devil too at his command.  
He may give them leave  
To lie and deceive;  
But what when the Rope does of Life them bereave?  
Can his Holiness, think you, dispense with that pain,  
Or by his Indulgence raise them again?  
The truth, etc.   

X.  
Yet, like Madmen of Life a Contempt they express,  
And of their own happiness careless appear;  
For Life or for Money not one would confess,  
They'd rather be Damned, than be Rich and live here.  
But surely they raved,  
When God they outbraved,  
And thought to renounce him the way to be saved,  
And with Lies in their mouths go to Heaven in a string:  
So prosper all Traitors, and God save the King.  
The truth of my Story if any one doubt,  
We have Witnesses ready to swear it all out.   
Concordat cum Recordo  
Cl. Par.   

The third Part.  Written by a Lady of Quality. 

The Plot is vanished like to a bashful Spirit,  
Which with false flashes, ●ools could only fright.  
The wise, (whose clearer Souls can penetrate,)  
finds shadows drawn before Intrigues of State.  
God bless our King, the Church, and Nation too,  
Whilst perjured Villains have what is their due.   

I.  
THe Presbyter has been so active of late,  
To twist himself into the Myster of State,  
Giving Birth to a Plot to amuse the dark World,  
Till into Confusion three Kingdoms are hurled;  
It is so long since,  
He Murdered his Prince,  
That the unwary Rabble he hopes to convince,  
With Jingling words that bears little sense,  
Deluding them with Religious pretence.   

II.  
Their Scribbling Poet is such a dull Sot,  
To blame the poor Devil for hatching the Plot;  
The Murder o'th' King, with many things more,  
He falsely would put on the Jesuits score:  
When all that have Eyes,  
Be they foolish, or wise,  
May see the sly Presbyter through his disguise;  
Their brethren in Scotland has made it well known,  
By Murdering their Bishop what sins are their own.   

III.  
The Poet, whose senses are somewhat decayed,  
Takes Joan for a Jesuit in Masquerade:  
His Muse ran so fast, she ne'er looked behind her,  
Or else to a Woman she would have proved kinder.  
His fury's so hot,  
To Hunt out the Plot,  
That fain he would find it where it is not,  
Although I've exposed it to all that are wise,  
He has stifled his Reason, and blinded his Eyes.   

FOUR  
An old Ignis fatuus, who leads men astray,  
And leaves them i'th' the Ditch yet still keeps his way,  
In politic head first framed this Plot,  
From whence it descended to Presbyter Scot,  
Who quickly took Fire,  
And assoon did expire,  
Having grave factious fools their zeal to admire;  
Who for the same cause would freely fly out,  
But Plotting's more safer to bring it about.   

V  
Here's one for Religion is ready to fight,  
That believes not in Christ, yet swear's he's i'th' right;  
If our English Church (as he says,) be a Whore,  
We're sure 'twas Jack Presbyter did her deflower;  
He'd feign pull her down,  
As well as the Crown.  
And prostitute her to every dull Clown;  
To bring in Religion that's fit for the Rabble,  
Whilst Atheism serves himself that's more able.   

VI  
A Pestilent Peer of a levelling Spirit,  
Who only the Sins of his Sire doth inherit;  
With an unsteady mind, and Chimerical brain,  
Which his broken Fortune doth weakly sustain,  
He lodged i' th' City  
Like Alderman brave,  
Being fed up with Faction to which he's a slave;  
He never durst fight, but once for his Whore,  
Which his feeble Courage attempted no more.   

VII.  
Another with Preaching and Praying wore out,  
Inspired by th' Covenant is grown very stout;  
Th' old Cause to revive it is his design,  
Though the fabric of Monarchy he undermine:  
He tortured his Pate,  
Both early and late,  
I'th' Tower, where this Mischief he hoped to create;  
But to Country dwelling he now doth retire,  
To Preach to Domestics whilst they do admire.   

VIII.  
Another with Head both empty and light,  
For the good Old Cause is willing to fight;  
I'th' Choice of fit Members for th' next Parliament,  
He spit out his zeal to the Rabbles content,  
Whilst his wife in great State  
Chose a Duke for her Mate,  
For whose sake a Combustion he needs would create  
For since his Indulgence allows her a Friend,  
He'd make him as great as his Wish can extend.   

IX.  
There's one whose fierce Courage is fallen to decay  
(At Geneva inspired,) he's much led away;  
He would set up a cipher instead of a King:  
From Presbyter zeal such folly doth spring.  
He once did betray,  
A whole Town in a day;  
And since did at Sea fly fairly away:  
He had better spin out the rest of his Thread,  
In making Potguns, which disturb not his Head.   

X.  
Some others, of Fortunes both dispersed and Low,  
With big swelling Titles does make a great show;  
A flexible Prince they would willingly have,  
That to Presbyter Subjects should be a mere slav;  
They'd set him on's Throne,  
To tumble him down,  
They scorn to submit to Sceptre and Crown;  
And into Confusion, or Commonwealth turn,  
A People that hastens to be undone.  
If such busy heads that would us confound,  
Were all advanced high, or placed under ground;  
Wed honour our King, and live at our ease,  
And make the dull Presbyter do what we please,  
Who has cheated our Eyes,  
With borrowed disguise,  
Till of all our Reason they'd taken Excise;  
But let's from their slavery strive to be free,  
And no People can e'er be so happy as we.    

Upon the Popish PLOT.  Written by a Lady of Quality. 

Whether you will like my Song, or like it not,  
It is the down fall of the Popish Plot:  
With Characters of Plotters here I sing,  
Who would destroy our good and gracious King:  
Whom God preserve and give us cause to hope  
His Foes will be rewarded with a Rope.   

I.  
SInce Counterfeit Plots has affected this Age.  
Being acted by Fools, and contrived by the Sage:  
In City, nor Suburbs, no man can be found,  
But frighted with Fire-balls, their heads turned round.  
From Pulpit to Pot  
They talked of a Plot,  
Till their Brains were enslaved, and each man turned Sot:  
But let's to Reason and Justice repair,  
And this Popish Bugbear will fly into Air.   

II.  
A Politic Statesman, of Body unsound,  
Who once in a Tree with the Rabble set round  
Run Monarchy down with Fanatic Rage,  
And preached up Rebellion in'at credulous age;  
He now is at work,  
With the Devil and Turk,  
Pretending a Plot, under which he doth lurk,  
To humble the Mitre, while he squints at the Crown;  
Till fairly and squarely he pulls them both down,   

III.  
He had sound out an Instrument fit for the Devil,  
Whose mind had been trained up to all that was Evil:  
His Fortune sunk low, and detested by many;  
Kicked out at St. Omers, not pitied by any.  
Some Whisperers fixed him  
Upon this Design,  
And with promised Reward did him countermine:  
Though his Tale was ill told, it served to give fire;  
Despised by the wise, whilst fools did admire.   

iv  
The next that appeared, was a Foolhardy Knave,  
Who had plied the Highways, and to Vice was a Slave.  
Being fed out of Bask in Prison forlorn,  
No wonder that Money should make him forsworn.  
He boldly dares swear,  
What men tremble to hear;  
And learns a false Lession without any fear:  
For when he is out, there's one that's in's place,  
Relieves his invention and quickens his Pace.   

V  
In a Country Prison another was found,  
Who had cheated his Lord of One 1000 pound;  
He was freed from's Fetters to swear and inform,  
Which very courageously he did perform.  
To avoid future strife,  
He takes away Life,  
To save poor Protestants from Popish Knife;  
Which only has Edge to cut a Rogues Ears,  
For abusing the People with needless fears.   

VI  
Another starts up and tells a false Tale,  
Which strait he rovoked his Courage being frail:  
But to fortify one that needeth his aid,  
Being tempted with Money, which much doth persuade;  
He swore he knew all  
That contrived the fall,  
Of one, who that day was seen near to White hall:  
Where he by the Treasurer's powerful Breath,  
More likely by far received his Death.   

VII.  
A Gown-man most grave with Fanatical form,  
With his scribbling wit doth blow up this storm:  
For Motheaten Records he worships the Devil,  
Being now lodged at Court he must become civil.  
He hunts all about,  
And makes a great Rout,  
To find some old Prophecy to help him out:  
But his friend that was housed with him at Fox-hall,  
Being joined with his Master still strengthens 'em all   

VIII.  
Then comes a cracked Merchant with his shallow Brain,  
Who first did lead up his stigmatised Train:  
He since is grown useless, his Skill being small,  
Yet at a dead lift, he's still at their call.  
He has pestered the Press,  
In ridiculous dress,  
In this scribbling Age he could not do less:  
But to so little purpose as plainly appears,  
With pen he had as good sat picking his Ears.   

IX.  
To end with a Prayer, as now 'tis my Lot,  
Confounded be Plotters, with their Popish Plot:  
God bless and preserve our gracious good King,  
That he may ne'er feel the Presbyters sting:  
As they brought his Father  
With rage to the Block,  
So would they extirpate all the whole Stock:  
But with their false Plots I hope they will end  
At Tyburn, where the Rabble will surely attend.     

The great Despair of the London-Whigs for the Loss of the Charter.  

THen is our Charter (Polexfin) quite lost?  
Is there no Aid from the new sainted Post?  
Are our Sham-plots and Perjuries all in vain?  
If not, we'll summon Patience back again.  
Saint's Prayers to Heaven  found will not prevail,  
But more propitious Hell will never fail.  
Then let Almighty TITUS (for you know)  
He needs must be a Magic Doctor too,  
For how do you think at Salamancha he  
Can take such an Invisible Degree,  
Unknown to all the University.  
Let him raise up the once great Tapski's Ghost,  
With his Retinue, all that numerous Host  
Of brave Heroic Spirits, who could die  
For Treason, and Rebellion juctifie;  
Amongst those, Steven condemned by wicked Laws,  
The Proto-Martyr for the last Good CAUSE.  
Advance you brave Arch-Trait. from the Grave,  
Who made Slaves Princes, and your Prince a Slave.  
Bradshaw and Cromwell, those two Glorious Names  
That raise dull Treason up to Active Flames,  
Let these Infernal Worthies then be backed  
By Zimri and the Jury that he pactt;  
With all the fiery Zealots of the Town,  
But chief our great Patriot of Renown,  
To whom we'll give some pretty Polish Crown.  
Not that we promised him, for all our Zeal  
Is only how to raise a Common weal.  
With this Cabal we●ll fool all Equity,  
And gain what Law has lost by Polity.  
Here Godlike Tapskie once shall speak again,  
And what he speaks Fates shall oppose in vain;  
For if Alive he Treason taught so well,  
What a vast Traitor now he's schooled in Hell.  
Can Cromwell once by force assume the Crown,  
And shan't this angry Ghost relieve one Town.  
Sha'ned Ignoramus, who with no ado  
Can save great Tapski, save our Charter too?   

But what are only Counsels now? The Course  
That we would take in this Distress, is Force;  
But the Militia now alas, is gone,  
'Tis odds to what we had in Forty One,  
The Saints are all sequestered of their Right,  
The City governed by a Jebusite:  
What then should we distressed Rebels do?  
Is it too late, can't we for Pardon sue?  
Why Good King Charles' Clemency may spare Despair.  
Tho' we in two Reb. had our share,  
Nor need we hang ourselves like Judas for  
But let's, like Origen since other hopes are past,  
Hope the poor Devil may be saved at last.    

A Panegyric to His Royal Highness, upon His Majesty's late Declaration; especially drawn from Unio Dissidentium Pag. 2. Part 14. Pag. 3. Part 3. Pag. 4. Part. 3. and 4.  

OF a Just King, the Powerful Words declare  
Great James presumptive and apparent Heir:  
(The words betoken one and selfsame Thing:  
Though some, Them would under distinction bring.)  
Such Declaration, Henry Third of France  
Wisely made use of, when some began advance  
Pretensive Heirs, Fourth Henry to displace,  
(A lawful Heir, though much remote in Race.)  
Such Declaration by both Kings must be,  
An Act impulsed by Divine Decree,  
What good effects from first of these did flow,  
The  Chronicles at large do show:  
Checked Henry after Care and War became  
Eternally Great in his Fame and Name.  
Great Duke in this Declarement acquiesce,  
In sweet Repose and Rest thyself possess.  
This heavenly opening of thy Brother's Breast,  
(With all due Reverence be it expressed,)  
Hath likeness unto that in Sacred Text.  
Save that a Brother's owned in stead of Son,  
What more than this can in the Case be done?  
Who dare henceforth this Kingly Act gainsay,  
Who dare against Thy Royal Highness bray,  
Surely the Mouths of the tumultuous Crew,  
Are stopped, or else to means we bid adieu,  
Where a King's Word is, There is Power, so saith  
The Sacred Writ on which we ground our Faith.)  
Henceforth of just necessity must cease  
Those clamours which so much disturb thy peace.  
Henceforth no Voyage over British Seas,  
Or cold Retirement under Scotch Degrees  
Needest thou to take, but still abide where Birth  
Thou first receiv'dst, (passing time in Mirth)  
By Sovereign beloved, by Friends carest,  
Revered by all, and by the Heavens blest,  
Exactly making good that Expectation,  
Of being mighty Pillar to this Nation:  
A Stay of State, a strong supporting Prop,  
Ordained to Scale the Point of Honour's top:  
Long since foretold of thee as we may see  
At large expressed in day Fatality.  
Nor canst be spared from Serene Charles his side.  
Being active vigilant, helpful to Guide  
Affairs of State by Land as well as Sea;  
For last of which none more renowned can be,  
Let Arragon her Testimonial give,  
And Thy Dutch Victory in sixty five.  
Which higgon's Muse hath so inspir'dly sung,  
Making the Neptune's Heroes chief among.  
None may so well that glorious Motto claim,  
Of being Terror of the Ocean Main.  
Which Lovis did for Michael's Knights ordain.  
As once a Servant of King Edward's went  
With Royal Cup his Master to present,  
One foot did trip; being quick he did prevent  
(With t'other Leg) the Fall, Godwin of Kent,  
Laughing, said to the King, Even thus one Brother  
We see is ready still to help another.  
The King replied, Just so might Alfred me,  
But, That removed by base Treachery.  
The Belgic Sheaf and Aesop's Moral Teach,  
Betwixt own Brothers there should be no breach.  
The Scripture says, They must together dwell,  
Union's's their Heaven, Disunion's their Hell.  
Unworthy are they, whosoever they are  
Fraternal Union to break that dare.  
Then in despite of such as would disjoin  
Your Persons, Live together says Eloign.  
When men are absent, their back friends dare say  
And do those things which else they'd ne'er essay,  
Divide & impera we may English make,  
First separate, and then Advantage take.  
Long live Great Prince, who not desir'st to see  
Thy Liege's Funeral Solemnity.  
But guided by an equal and just Soul,  
Humbly submit'st unto Divine control,  
Nor dost expect, but stay to see the Fate,  
Ordained above, Signed from Eternal Date.  
We read of Lovis a Montpensier Peer.  
Who though his Father had been dead 5 year,  
Yet took such Grief at seeing of his Grave,  
As did straight after him of Life bereave;  
Even just so, James we may expect to Die,  
When Charles submits to mortal Destiny:  
God's wondrous hand, after a long Exile,  
Them hand in hand brought back to Native Isle,  
When wisest men esteemed their state forlorn,  
They saw them stated in the Land where born;  
A strange agreement they have underwent,  
Sometimes of Bliss, sometimes of Discontent:  
Why may not then Fraternal Sympathy  
Cooperate to dying Harmony?  
When thinking what 've suffered in times past,  
One can't endure the other to outlast;  
But as 've lived together so to die,  
May be their Fate ordained by God on high;  
The possibility of this is no doubt,  
By various Authors we may make it out.  
Let 'em both live until they have outdone,  
That Age which David calls a wondrous one:  
That Royal Prophet whose Afflictions were  
So great, and with which James his may compare.  
Those Clouds are cleared, the Sun is now braced out,  
His Brother's Rays encompass him about;  
Apollo's Rays, that can alone dispel  
All Fumes and Vapours though exhaled from Hell;  
Those Rays late issued from the Declaration,  
For ever making Calm and Still the Nation.   

Abs-hinc Aethereas cessans volitare per aur as  
(Optatus) placidae Tutus adesto Domi,  
Audent-absentis nonnulli rodere famam,  
Cum fuerit praesens or a reclusa tenent:  
Est 〈…〉 cohors. Dux inclite Cominus esto  
Si forsan fueris Eminus ista ferit.    

To His Royal Highness the Duke.  

THey who oppose your Right unto the Crown,  
Would, had they power, pull Monarchy quite down:  
'Tis not, so qualified they would have one  
Of this, or that Religion, on the Throne;  
No, no, we know their minds, they would have none.  
The men that lately kept from Charles his due,  
Now promise fait to disinherit you;  
They who explode your Right; to make us slaves,  
Are not Presumptive, but Apparent Knaves:  
By our Dissensions they would smooth their way,  
And from Contenders hope to snatch the prey.  
But such men seldom in the end can boast,  
They threaten loud, but still their Cause is lost  
In such affairs, they'll find it to their cost.  
Still the old Cheat, Religion is the Cry,  
And made the Ram to batter Monarchy;  
'Cause they deserve, they fear the smarting Rod,  
And most Religiously distrust their God.  
Envy at Regal Sway, (Ah it is sad)  
And Zeal misguided made those Billmen mad:  
These took rash measures, and did ill advise;  
But without jealousy or wrong surmise,  
The future will prove Loyal, Calm, and Wise.  
To us it cannot but assurance bring,  
That a good man can make as good a King.  
Factious design, and damned Plebeian rage,  
Does to no mean degree distract the Age,  
And watch the tottering of our settled State.  
But can we such Sheep, such careless Elves,  
Not to beware the Wolves among ourselves?  
Those Beasts of Prey, that lurk in a disguise,  
That wear our skins, 'tis there our danger lies:  
Against their brother-Wolves they raise the cry,  
'Cause their Addresses are not half so sly.  
A Papist seems a Papist to our sight,  
But our Fanatic, 'cause he would not fright,  
Daubs o'er the Devil like a Child of Light.  
But Ah! great Sir, where you should still Command,  
You, like a Stranger, visit your own Land;  
You for a moment tantalise our Sight,  
Then, like the absent Sun you give us night:  
But 'tis the ready way, we must confess,  
To make us know and prise our Happiness;  
Whilst all do suffer for the faulty few,  
England must lose itself in losing You.   

But to Great Britain come——  
May You in highest Splendour live, and be  
Happy and safe, Great Sir, in One of Three.  
Sir, may your Right no otherwise prove vain,  
Than by the length of our Great Charles his Reign.  
We cannot, Sir, but prove a happy Nation;  
One bliss enjoyed, another in expectation.  
There but remains this great Truth in the close,  
Your Virtue ' and Courage, Sir, the whole world knows,  
And ye are born for Conquest o'er your Foes.    

A Congratulatory Poem upon the happy Arrival of his Royal Highness JAMES Duke of York, at London, April 8. 1682.  Written by a Person of Quality. Si Natura negat, facit Exultatio Versum. 

NOw to be silent, or to write in Prose,  
Were a like Sin, such as I leave to those  
Who either have but dull, unthinking brains,  
Or whose bad Arguments enhance their Pains.  
But when a Thesis is prepared and fit,  
And nothing wanting but an equal Wit;  
I need no Muses help to aid me on,  
When that my Subject is my Helicon:  
Great YORK is such, who Him their Theme intent,  
Will nothing find so hard, as how to End.  
And see He comes, my Joys excessive grow,  
Like swelling waves each other they overflow.  
At York's Return, see Heaven and Nature smile,  
And gen'ral Gladness spreads o'er all our Isle:  
The Valleys, Hills, and Woods, now decked, and gay,  
Welcome his Coming in their best Array:  
On every Bough the chirping Minstrels meet,  
In tuneful Notes, the Godlike James to greet.  
At his Approach, the Sun new thaws the Earth,  
Who to her lavish Bounties gives quick Birth;  
Sure all things, but dissenting Citts, accord,  
To own Great JAMES for their next Lawful Lord.  
But above All, see Sacred Charles descends  
To greet the best of Brothers, best of Friends;  
His eager Love, impatient of Delay,  
Resolves to meet Him on his tedious way:  
And now They're met, who can Their Joys reveal?  
They sure do only know them, who them feel.  
York's returned: T' England what can fate prevent  
That after this, she can call Discontent?  
That Noble conqueror is Returned; Yorks He  
Who's the true Favourite of Victory.  
Who whatsoever He attempted, wrought  
Event still gladly lackeying his wise Thought.  
I challenge thee proud Greece, and prouder Rome,  
From their first Birth, and to their latest Tomb;  
Peruse your Heroes, read their Actions o'er,  
Make what was somewhat, by Romancing, more:  
Add what you can invent, then if you dare  
Bring them, yet if with York you them compare,  
They shall as much that Competition shun  
As a weak Taper, yields to the bright Sun.  
Which of Yours Triumphed for another's Gains,  
That theirs might be the Profit, his the Pains.  
Brave JAMES has oft for haughty England fought,  
And for Unthankful Souls the Conquest brought,  
For whilst at Sea, their fiercest Foes He Quells,  
For His Reward, the Ungrateful Land Rebels.  
Behold, the Nations Curse, a Plot is raised,  
The Bantered People stood a while amazed,  
Tho now'ts decried, more than at first 'twas Praised.  
They find, though late, that Plots are to th' Precise  
The needful'st things, whether they're Truth or Lies,  
To bring in Commonwealths, and Kings to sacrifice:  
But Charles and James are heavens chiefest Care,  
Tho their Blessed Father perished in their Snare,  
The Gods with his Sons Lives that Martyr's loss Repair.  
Blush, Blush thou Speaker to the Damned Cabal,  
No longer against York and Goodness yawl,  
No more to Factious Clubs thou traitorous Insect crawl.  
Let thy Rebellious Lectures now be at a stand,  
Thou Manuscript of Treason in Shorthand;  
The Devil's Enchiridion, being no less  
Than the Perfection of all wickedness,  
In vain are all the Plots you can devise,  
Too loud the Father's Blood for Vengeance cries  
Then add not to Damnation if thou'rt wise.  
Crouch, Crouch, Disloyal Whigs▪ ●'unthinking Crew,  
Not others Ruin, you your own pursue.  
No more by Crop-eared Villains cheated be  
Both of your Sense, and dearest Loyalty,  
By Religious Glow-worm's, masked Impiety.  
And Absalon, thou piece of Ill-placed Beauty,  
As Happy be as Fair, and know thy Duty.  
For some what in that Noble Frame I saw,  
Which, or a Father, or a King can awe.  
And bashful Corah do thou leave to swear;  
If not for Law, or Punishments you care,  
At least because thou knowst no more, Forbear.  
And you ye Vulgar Fiends, ye Scum of Hell,  
Whose Grace lies in your Swearing well;  
Than you Nile's greedy Beast more mild appears,  
That whom it kills bemoans them with its tears:  
At last in pity to your Souls give over  
Let out your Foundered Hackney-Oaths no more:  
Oh! for the Natious Good, and Public Peace,  
May this stupendious way of Plotting cease  
Burn all Associations you have writ,  
Conspire no more two Princes Fall, they sit  
Too near to thunder, and you'll sure be hit.  
Brave York unmoved, your various Ills can bear  
Firm as the Centre, Fixed as th' Northern Star.  
Since Sacred Charles does know him loyal, true,  
With a disdainful Scorn he laughs to view  
The worst, the lowest dregs of Men dare do.  
Go on Disloyal London, stand and see  
Your Lawful Prince murdered in Effigy,  
For sure the stroke was aimed above his Knee.  
Raise still your Tumults, but you'll see at length  
Antoeus-like, by Falling he'll get strength.  
Hence with all shallow Plots, such Juggler's blind  
The Fond Chimaeras of Phantick Minds.  
Now York appears, see how they sink away,  
As frightful Shades vanish at sight of Day.  
Forth, Forth, all Loyal Souls, his Coming greet,  
Lay your Hearts low beneath his Royal Feet.  
He comes, he comes, sure none but Traitors stay,  
When York's the word, and a King leads the way.  
Welcome brave Prince, welcome in balmy Rest  
To them by Pain, and want of Sleep oppressed;  
Welcome as Health to th' Sick, to Bridegrooms, Night;  
Welcome as to disordered Chaos, Light.  
Let loudest Shouts straight cleave the yielding Air,  
And Bells and Bonfires our vast Joys declare;  
Let Rocks, and Hills, and ‛ Dales, and dancing Floods,  
Hear our glad Sounds, who with repeating Noise,  
Will help to double our repeated Joys.  
Oh! Glorious Sight! Oh! Miracle of Fate!  
To see at once Two Princes in their State;  
As if Two Suns did harmlessly agree,  
Not the kind Heavens to Fright, but Beautify.  
Fill up the Bowls, let Charles and James go round,  
And to the Vaulted Sky your Clangors found.  
May Charles' Reign flourish in wealth and peace,  
Whilst York's chief care is both of 'em t'increase.  
May no Sham-Plots our Happiness e'er thwart,  
Or cause these Royal Brothers e'er to part.  
Oh! May They Live and Love, while Streams to th' Main  
Their Tribute pay, while Skies do Stars sustain.  
Having these Two what can our Bliss destroy?  
My Verses may have End, but not our Joy.    

To His Royal Highness the DUKE, upon his Arrival.  

WHen You, Great Sir, began to disappear,  
All Loyal Hearts invaded were with Fear,  
Hope, only in Scotch Rebels lived, who knew,  
Our Courage and our Conduct fled in you.  
Pirates and Rebels jointly did Command,  
Turk's preyed on all by Sea, and Scots by Land.  
The Turks! who ne'er so insolent were grown  
T' approach our British-Coasts, till You were gone.  
Though what the Algerines first tempted forth,  
Was that which moved their Brethren in the North.  
Both saw we were forsaken by that Hand,  
Which had with equal Glory once maintained  
Our Flag at Sea, our Sceptre on the Land.  
Brave Causes both, worthy the Sword alone  
Of Charles' Brother, and the Martyrs Son.  
What Force is able with that Arm to fight  
Which pleads a Martyr's vows, a Sov'raigns' right?  
Now had you left your Brother's Rule, the Land  
And past those Seas which once You did Command;  
Beyond our English Bounds, those Bounds that were  
To our poor Isle, none to your Arms appear;  
Where once your Sword was drawn, your Course you bend,  
Your Sword must still beyond Our Rule extend,  
Flanders at once does Peace and You receive,  
While Foes our Peace disturb, and Traffic grieve,  
Yet these alas! like some ill Omens were,  
But Harbingers of our approaching Fear.  
For He, in whom we all an Interest crave,  
A Brothers You, we those of Subjects have;  
Whose mighty Soul could not be well contained  
Within his own Dominion on the Land  
Descends, the Ocean and his Ships to view,  
Which oft engage him in deep Thoughts of you.  
On your Employment musing, and your Charge,  
Wishes in vain, a Subjects Soul so Large.  
Fit for the Steerage of so vast a Fleet,  
Or near him at the Helm on Land to sit;  
Who next the Throne might shine in silent Peace  
Or in loud wars, might Thunder on the Seas.  
But finding none, He feels the loss though late  
Of such a Limb new severed from the State.  
The first Prince of the Blood now from him gone  
Unguarded on the Right hand left the Throne.  
For none in Deeds so Great, or Birth so High  
His Place in Arms or Councils may supply:  
None may of Right ascend, they may invade,  
For Princes of the Blood are Born, not Made.  
T' enjoy their Titles, and possess their Lot,  
None ever are Elected, but Begot.  
Wanting his sole Support in all his Care,  
His Stay in Peace, and his chief Strength in War.  
On whom, the King still in the first place ●●an'd,  
And next the King, on whom we all depend.  
Unsafe in Rule, uneasy in his Mind,  
Tossed like the Sea, which labours with the wind,  
His Hopes at length, He to Despair re●ig●s,  
Decays in Vigour, and in Health de●●●nes.   

Soon as the fatal News once reached your ear,  
Urged with a Brother's Zeal, and Subject's care,  
You fly with such like haste as Angels move,  
On all the wings of Duty, and of Love.  
Angels and You a like Employment have  
To secure Kings, and distressed Nations save.  
The Foreign Shore, which when you did arrive  
Met You in show, your Ve●●el to Receive.  
Removing now, l●st by its guilty Stay,  
It might be thought your Voyage to delay:  
Does in Appearance awfully Recede  
And seems in Duty from your Vessel fled;  
Which proud to bear him for her single Load,  
Who still whole Fleets and Armies led abroad.  
All Opposition does, like You, despise;  
And laboured by the waves, still higher rise.  
No danger can be great enough for Fear  
Where Cesar's Brother, and his Fortune are.  
His high Extraction, and his happy Fate  
The proud Sails fill, and Vessel elevate.  
While to the winds her Canvas wings are spread,  
The lazy winds you chide, for want of speed;  
And with impatience their Delays control,  
For winds compared to winged Desires, are dull.  
Your Thoughts alas! preventing them, before  
Your Voyage had dispatched and reached the shore.   

Nor Landed on the Shore, do you proceed  
With more Solemnity, or with less Speed;  
With such dispatch arriving at the Court  
You Fame prevent, and even outfly Report  
As swift, yet not less silent, than the Light,  
Of which we hear no news, till 'tis in sight.  
Me thinks I see the Royal Brothers meet,  
Their Souls and Bodies in Embraces knit.  
While in the Union of their Arms is seen,  
The closer Union of their Hearts within.  
How they embrace, and in th' Embraces melt,  
Cannot reported be, It must be felt▪  
While Joys too mighty for their Tongues arise,  
And flow out in th' expressions of their Eyes.  
Such powerful Transports, for which, words we want  
Which when we imitate, we best shall paint.  
Can we who see this, stand unmoved? Can we  
Who see th' embraces of the Brothers, be,  
(If their Example, or our Duty bind,)  
To them unfaithful, or ourselves unkind?  
Ah no! let us in Love our strife employ,  
And never weep henceforth, but Tears of Joy.    

To His Royal Highness the Duke of York, Upon his Return to the Care and Management of the Navy of England.  

GReat Sir, till now I with Impatience stayed,  
To see what Muse her early Homage paid;  
Which doubtless, all, but the Seditious few,  
Allow to our great injured York is due:  
And am with wonder seized You are so long  
Un-importuned by the Poetic throng.  
For Faction oft, and vainly they engage,  
They scatter Songs, and trifle on the Stage:  
For Malice, or for Bread, they always write,  
The Great with well placed flattery delight,  
In Libel, or Lampoon exhausted quite.  
Ungrateful Muses! not one Line afford?  
When our loved Charles has to his Right restored  
The Nation's Darling, and the Ocean's Lord.  
With just contentment all good men beheld  
The Hydra of the Rebel-Faction quelled.  
Like Heavenly Vengeance it was sure, though slow,  
Which we to Cesar's steady Virtue owe;  
That Virtue, which unshaken as a Rock,  
So long has stood the bandying Parties Shock:  
Till Mercy, much abused, did late consent,  
To punish those who never would repent.  
One only thing was left unfinished yet,  
At once our Joys, and Safety to complete:  
Which our great ' Pilot saw, and straight commands,  
The Fleet be rescued from unskilful Hands.  
Whom should he choose for his important Trust,  
But one Experienced, Valiant, Prudent, Just?  
In whom he finds a Brother, and a Friend:  
To him deservedly does he recommend  
Whose Ships, his Courage could so well defend.  
When neighbouring Carthage dared our Seas invade  
Dispute their Homage, and disturb our Trade:  
Our English Scipio to whom Rome must yield,  
With shame repulsed them from the watery Field.  
His generous Soul with easy victory cloyed,  
Humbled that State he could have quite destroyed.  
Spared only to be Monuments of his Fame,  
They tremble still at mention of his Name.  
Both Leaders thus their countries' Foes subdued,  
Both paid alike with base ingratitude:  
Rome hers, and we our Hero would exclude.  
Mistaken Panders, ignorant and Proud,  
With furious Zeal may bawl in Senate's loud:  
Religion there, and Property may use,  
As words of Art the Vulgar to abuse;  
But if in higher Stations they appear,  
They lose their way, and act beyond their Sphere.  
Men born t'improve some little Country Seat.  
Have Souls too narrow to direct a Fleet.  
This Caesar found, and ere it was too late,  
Took from their Shoulders the unequal weight.  
A Burden he himself alone can bear,  
Or York who now supports the mighty Care.  
York our Protecting Genius, by kind Heaven,  
To calm our Fears, and growing Tumults given:  
From many dangers saved, himself to be  
His countries' lasting, best Security.    

A Welcome to His Royal Highness into the City, April the 20th 1682.  Motto. Invenias paucos hic ut in orbe bonos. 

CLad with the Infant Glories of the Spring,  
Haste pious Muse, Great James Divinely sing;  
Riding secure in peaceful Albion's Bay,  
Grateful to Her above the Newborn Day.  
Welcome Great Sir, salutes you every where,  
Beloved by Jove, by Birth His chiefest Care:  
With buisy joy our Sevensold Lute we String,  
To tell in Notes your Safety to the King;  
Moved with soft Numbers Envy here is shown,  
Each strives to bid you welcome to the Town.  
With melting Harmony our Harps are Strung,  
Soft as the Love with which the Throne is Hung:  
Such Mirth Your Presence adds to Monarchy,  
In spite of Rage, and Factious Anarchy  
Those Closet-Products of Damned Whiggery:  
Such new raised Plagues of every Corporation,  
We will allay by Anti-Association;  
Laden with Loyalty our Arms shall be  
That Golden Bracelet of blessed Unity,  
The sole unbias'd Basis of true Property:  
Next after Charles a Monarch you may claim,  
At whose Protection all our Fortune's aim.  
England triumphant now may brighter shine,  
Blest with the Rays of thy good Father's Line;  
Crowned with Religions peaceful Olive, She  
With Tory Zeal a Monument to Thee  
Shall raise of ever verdant Piety.  
Long did our Royal Monarch in his Mind  
Hugg your Return, and hoped that some kind wind  
Would lodge you safe within his Sacred Arms,  
Where scarce his Sceptre feels more pleasing Charms,  
Oh! could we raise our grovelling Souls to Thee,  
Filled with a smooth Majestic Harmony!  
For to a Crown that Monarch of Delight,  
Virtue like Thine Victorious takes her Flight.  
But cease my Muse, in wishes speak the rest,  
Whilst with two Godlike Souls our Albion's blest.   
Vivat Rex Carolus, & Caroli Frater.   

A Farewell to His Royal Highness James Duke of York, on his Voyage to Scotland, October 20. 1680.  

GO, Best in all that's good. We cannot bear  
The Radiant Lustre of thy Virtues here:  
Owls hate the Sun, Dark Deeds abhor the Light,  
Ills appear worse still by their Opposite.  
Obey thy Heavenly in thy Earthly King,  
Confound thine Enemies by Suffering;  
O'ercome by Good, Let Furious Factions see,  
Thine's Peace, when their Religion's Cruelty.  
Go Prince, Courageous Prince, Our Champion may  
Great Britain's Guardian Angel lead thy way;  
May the cold Hemisphere Thou go'st to Grace,  
Receive new warmth and vigour from thy Face:  
May all that's Happy thy Companion be,  
Till Heaven bring Thee to Us, or Us to Thee.  
Go Prince, Great Britain's Genius with his Train,  
Guard thee to Scotland, Bring Thee safe again;  
That (like Great Constantine) Thy glorious days,  
May Crown thy Sufferings with Immortal Bays.  
And as His Zeal, the misled World did bring,  
To Love and Honour their Celestial King;  
So may thy Zeal move this misguided Nation,  
To follow Thee in Loyal Reputation,  
In being Just, and Faithful to their King;  
And all with one accord aloud shall Sing,  
Long live Great Charles our Nation's Joy,  
And all Men sing, Vive Le Roy.    

The DUKE's Welcome from Scotland to London.  

ART come, Sweet Prince? Wilt' once more deign to cheer  
With Thy Bright Beams our drooping Hemisphere?  
Can nothing check thy Love, suppress thy Flame?  
Still England's Guardian Angel? Still the same?  
Redoubled wrongs on Thee, the Crown, and State,  
Can only move Thy Pity, not Thy Hate;  
Who Good for Evil dost Retaliate.  
Thy tender Heart, and soft-loves conquered Will  
Plead this, (though bad) This is thy Country still.  
Relapsed into Her former Agony,  
Gasping Britannia seeks relief from Thee.  
Scotland that once contagious viprous Land,  
Doth now our Envy and Example stand;  
Charmed by thy prudent Head, and gentle hand.  
Under his Vine each cheerful Swain doth sit,  
The Serpent's crushed that once demolished it▪  
Where Hemlock, Wormwood, Tares and Weeds, did grow,  
Now in full plenty Milk & Honey flow.  
Thrice Happy Land● May our envenomed Sense  
With Treasons, Poison, feel the Influence  
Of this all-healing Planet; May we see  
All Hearts and Hands conjoined in Loyalty.  
May all Associating Traitors know,  
Divinity dwells on a Sovereign Brow.  
May those ungrateful Wretches who Contemn  
Mercy, find Justice in the Diadem.  
Great York, in all things Great; Great in Renown;  
Great in Succession's Right to England's Crown;  
Great in thy Conduct; Great in Peace and War;  
Great in thy Birth; In Virtue Greater far.  
But above all, Great in this Mighty thing,  
In thy firm Love and Duty to the KING.  
Welcome Sweet Prince, Let sober Healths go round,  
And all (but Regicides) thy Praise resound.    

An Heroic Poem on Her Highness the Lady ANN's Voyage into Scotland: With a little Digression upon the Times.  

INgrateful England, cursed to that Degree,  
Famed for Rebellion and Inconstancy;  
All thy Possessions and Enjoyments spring  
From Monarch's Cares, yet thou'lt obey no King;  
To whose vain Humour Nothing is Delight,  
Nor Rain nor Sunshine e'er can happen right;  
False and unworthy to obtain alone  
The greatest Blessing of the mildest Throne;  
Yet, being richer than I can express,  
Art justly punished with Unhappiness;  
What thou art envied for, and all adore,  
Thou throw'st away, and to thyself art poor,  
And like the Miser that abounds in Bags,  
Wallow'st in Wealth, yet lov'st to go in Rags.  
The stubborn Jews their Monarches still adored,  
They begged a King, and then obeyed their Lord;  
But stiffnecked England, just from Slavery saved,  
Forgets, and longs again to be enslaved.  
Can Rebels ever be with Sceptres awed,  
Rebels that once did sacrifice their God.  
True Heirs in Malice to the Fiends of Hell,  
which first they practised when from heaven they fell,  
And ever since taught Traitors to rebel.  
And now lest they should fail to reach him there,  
They stab him in his own Vicegerent here;  
For tho' they do it through a Monarch's Name,  
The Majesty of Heaven is still their Aim:  
Is it thy Nature or thy Planet's spite,  
Still to what's present to be opposite?  
Wretched be then with vain Mistrust and Fear,  
Banished the sight of the most Godlike Pair,  
And the bright Daughter of his Highness here;  
The Winds and Seas will far more faithful be,  
And Rocks and Quicksands teach Men Loyalty.  
Old Albany they now alone shall grace,  
Scotland, whence sprung th' Imperial Stewarts Race;  
Scotland that boasts a mighty Duke, and Name  
Further than Parthia great Arsaces' Fame.   

PRepare you Heavens, disclose your brightest Ray,  
All Day your Marble, Night your Milky Way;  
Urania comes, the Goddess of our Isle,  
Urania, that makes every Creature Smile:  
All they were born for, and can wish for here,  
Is but to bless her, and be blest by Her.  
Ten thousand Cupid's guard her as she rides,  
And of her golden Bark surround the sides;  
Whilst Others fly aloft with Songs, and strew  
Such Flowers as on the Beds of Eden grow;  
For want of winds, with wings supply soft gales,  
And with gay Plumes deck all her Virgin Sails:  
Ye frightful Storms retreat into your Cave,  
Nor leave the Ocean wrinkled with a wave;  
There, whilst she Sails, entombed in ●ollow Earth,  
Lie fettered close, and gro●● for want of Birth;  
And Heaven and Seas strive to be most serene,  
The Azure Blue, with the smooth glassy Green.  
You Sea-Gods and you Nymphs prepare to try  
Your skills, and with a Mask delight her Eye.  
First, let the Sun send forth such kindly Heats,  
As Winter's shine, or Summer when it sets;  
No Icy, Cloudy, nor no Sultry Day,  
But all like Morning, and those Mornings May:  
Then gentle Zephyr unlock all thy store,  
And send soft Breezes from the Western Shore;  
Such as Arabia ●elix has refined  
With Trees of Spice fanning the precious wind;  
But just so much as she in State may glide;  
And safe in her Neptunian Chariot ride:  
Then thou Green God shalt wait on her above,  
As on Jove's Daughter, and the Queen of Love.  
Let thy shrill Trumpeters, the Tritons, blow;  
And summon all the watery Powers below;  
The Naiads, and Nereids to appear,  
Let all the Subjects of the Flood draw near:  
Fair Cytheraea and her Waiters Call,  
And Sea Nymphs, to adorn this Ocean's Ball;  
Then let the lovely Mermaids come in Place,  
Each Mermaid that so dotes upon her Face?  
Till they shall see how far above their own  
Vrania's is, and throw their Classes down.  
The lesser Fry in Shoals before shall run,  
Like Clouds of Infects gathered by the Sun;  
And nimble Dolphins wantonly shall play,  
And hunt the Plain, like Spaniels in her way.  
Next, let the great Leviathans resort,  
And not forget ●o make the Princess Sport;  
But at a harmless distance head the Train,  
And from their mighty Engines spout forth 〈◊〉  
Thus in such awful Manner let it be,  
That wondering Angels may look down to see,  
And make the Show more full of Majesty.  
Thou Nereus, do this mighty Task with Care;  
As much as was in Noah's Ark, is here:  
For since that Patrierch, when the world was drowned,  
The like was never in one Vessel found.  
Her little Yatch and Squadron, as they ride,  
Swell to a Fleet and Admiral, with Pride,  
Lift up their Flags, like Pyramids, on high,  
And with their Rainbow Colours brave the sky:  
Th' Egyptian Galleys were not half so proud,  
When Cleopatra was o'er Nilus rowed.  
Thus gentle Neptune guard her o'er your Sea,  
From faithless Albion to glad Albany;  
Commit her safely to the longing Shore,  
To her first Father's, ancient Fergus Tower,  
There, as in Heaven, her wishes to obtain,  
Till she return, and thou art blest again.    

Islington WATERS.  

EArly (by Four) on Friday Morn,  
Ere Phoebus did the Skies adorn;  
I started up from where I lay,  
And looked what Wether 'twas that day:  
It proved Serene, it proved all Clear,  
No sullen Fogs obscured the Air,  
In haste my  I hurried on,  
Intending straight for Islington;  
My Stomach first with Mugg of Stout  
I bribed, to screen the Vapours out:  
With Fringe and Sword, then jogging went,  
T' observe, not drink, was my Intent,  
For faith I've used this Paunch of mine,  
So long to Noble Claret Wine,  
In troth I dreaded the Events,  
'Twixt two such differing Elements,  
For should they fight, by Jove, I fear  
Each other to outrival there,  
In the Hot and rumbling Fray,  
My feeble Soul would sneak away,   

Now to the ready Road I draw,  
And Troops of flocking fools I saw,  
One Gang in Chief observing there,  
To them apace I hasted near,  
In Plush a Doctor then espied,  
A long Goun Priest did hand his Bride,  
Th' Apothecary big and fat,  
With Neighbour Cit held serious Chat,  
Straight I draw up that trodden way,  
And walk and hearken all they say.   

Good Sir, says Cit, what do you think  
Of this new Metaphysic Drink?  
(Then stopped could hold no longer out,  
With that prodigious Phrase even choked;)  
The Doctor pausing nothing said,  
But looking Grave hung down his Head,  
And walking thus demur a while,  
At length Began with leering Smile.  
What brooks it me an answer make?  
I know you'll censure what I speak,  
Impute it Interest or Design,  
I thus direct this Speech of mine,  
For Vulgar Errors who can mend?  
He seems their Foe who is their Friend▪  
Themselves the Giddy Rabble cheat,  
They make all Fish that comes to Net,  
What's now receiving with Applause,  
Not minding the Effect or Cause,  
The brackish Water swallowing up,  
As if it were Nectar in the Cup.  
No consequential ills they fear,  
It must be good cause Popular:  
Perhaps they'll find altho' too late  
The Hugg and Wanton with their sate.   

As to my own Respect and Gain,  
I find no reason to complain,  
For truly I observe this thing,  
Since Fame in vogue the Wells did bring,  
My Practice doubled with my Fee,  
And if they hold, they'll triple be,  
They cause such dire Mortality.  
This said, he stopped, and said no more,  
But sneering stalked along before.   

Th' Apothecary in mean while  
Applauding, did devoutly smile,  
In token too of his Consent,  
With the Remains thus on he went.  
And I admire (as th' Doctor says)  
The headstrong Madness of the days,  
That men so wise so learned in sense,  
Are lured with such Impertinence;  
They boast that mighty Cures are done,  
The Scurvy, Strangury, and Stone,  
Gripes and Histerick Passions too,  
Green Sicknesses in not a few,  
The Dropsy, and Obstructions all;  
They'll make 'em Epidemical;  
But above all that has been said,  
They can retrieve a Maidenhead;   

Oh! wondrous Virtues! wondrous things!  
That flow from those important Springs!  
Fate give 'em good success, said I,  
The emptied bowls with more Supply,  
Since public thus I daily pile,  
And heap with Bills my loaded File.   

I mind your drift, (the Cit replied)  
And Screwed his Grinning Teeth aside:  
Your Interest (faith) I cannot blame,  
Were I engaged I'd say the same;  
But Friends, observe you speak too late,  
Experience proves the Virtues great;  
Your early Care at first was shown,  
By your applause you made 'em known;  
In hopes the undigested Spring,  
To you might crowding Patients bring:  
Then closely did your Interest hid,  
Now find yourselves ' o'th' losing side,  
And by your subtle, slighting Arts,  
Could win from them the People's hearts:  
But (faith) I find wondrous ease,  
Since I began, it's seven days;  
The Sovereign Dose relaxed my Grief,  
And daily does afford Relief:  
That Physic here the Spring Instills,  
Effects more good than scores of Pills;  
My Threepences here will farther go,  
Than Pounds I in your Fees bestow.   

What needs there this Intestine stri●e,  
(Returns the Learned Doctor's Wife;)  
(Love) let 'em ungain▪ said go on,  
They'll find before the Summer's done,  
Their Error vainly was pursued,  
The Wells their Senses did delude,  
And by this rash unruly Trick;  
We'est reap th' advantage when they're Sick.   

The Parson's Tongue began to start;  
He argued the Defensive part,  
That th' Waters must unquestioned be,  
In terms of High Philosophy;  
That Heaven in Mercy had designed,  
These Sovereign Springs to heal mankind.   

Impatient now of longer stay,  
I slunk in silence straight away;  
And to the Waters sailing near,  
A harsh confused noise I hear.   

Two Cavalier stif● Toryes came,  
Each Hand on Hilt, Face on a Flame;  
Damn me, says one, on Honour Draw,  
My Sword shall give your boldness Law;  
At this I wisely stepped away,  
Nor stayed the Issue of the Fray:  
But to the flowing Pump I came,  
Promiscuous Crowds buzzed round the same;  
Full Bowls by turns were emptied out,  
Healths to the King there bounced about;  
They gorged it down like Claret-Wine,  
Like Florence, or like Muscadine;  
From thence I closely thronged out,  
And ranged all the walks about;  
Here Tradesman's Wife stood big with Cully,  
Her Daughter with a Bouncing Bully:  
Whilst behind all the Footmen played,  
And wantoned with the Chambermaid.  
A Taudry Jilt as I passed by,  
Glouted around with wishing Eye,  
With Breasts thrust out, and vaunting pace,  
With Pocky Are— and Painted Face,  
With Hair in Crisp, and Fuz o'th' Brow,  
Scudded and jogged to and fro.   

A Gaudy Fop whose Pregnant store,  
Scarce paid his entrance at the door,  
Prepared to accost the Rutting Whore:  
By heavens Madam how you shine,  
Be pleased t' accept a Glass of Wine:  
Damn me, how Happy should I be,  
Blessed with your Charming Company.   

With Mouth screwed up, and winking Eye,  
Just opening with a sweet reply;  
Turning with speed, I tacked about,  
And thrust into the Whiggish Rout,  
Here State affairs advanced the Stage,  
With every circumstance o'th' Age;  
Some in soft Silence gave their Votes,  
And pitied suffering Titus' Oats:  
Whilst some more solid knowing Men,  
Cursed down the Observators Pen:  
And others who as wisely meant,  
Made Martyred Russel Innocent,  
Essex Murdered, that Armstrong died,  
Condemned unjustly, and not Tried;  
Some there in private had decreed,  
Who should the envied Charles succeed.  
But——  
Tired with the stuff, I turned aside,  
And Loyal Tory Gamesters spied;  
Then towards the lower walk I drew,  
An Object there my Stout— o'erthrew,  
And I began to Purge and Spew:  
Weary and Sick with nasty sight,  
With Cuckolds made by morning Light;  
With Whores picked up, which Treason talked,  
With Fops who to the Waters talked;  
With Noise, and with an Humming there,  
That pierced and Echoed through each Ear:  
I grudged then a longer stay,  
So blessed myself, and came away.    

Serenissimis Principibus Eboracensibus, & Albaniensibus Ducibus, ter Maximis in Angliam Reducibus Congratulator.  

IN●lyte post Carolum Caroli spes certa Coronae  
ANglienis gratus Dux Jacobe venis.  
COnveniant alacres Regi, Regnóque Fideles;  
OMine nam fausto Dux Jacobus adest.  
BIs laesae Majestatis reus exulet hostis,  
URnaque sit studiis perfidus ipse suis.  
SAlva sit, & victrix stirps Regia regnet ab ortu  
Legitimo tutus portus, & ara suis.   

PRimus es à Carolo, Carolo cum Rege Secundus,  
REgis es unanimis Frater, & Alter Ergo.  
INgeminent tria Regna tuos Jacobe triumphos  
NEc desint titulis aurea Sceptra tuis.  
COnstantem post tot Terrâ, pelagóque pericla  
ELigat in summum Rex ad utrumque Ducem.  
PRincipe te felix laetetur Wallia, & illum  
SUmmo in Concilio dent tibi Regna locum.   

VIve igitur Felix Carolo cum Fratre, triumphis  
INsultent mundo Frater uterque suis.  
VIvat utérque diù sibi causa salutis utrimque  
ANglia ter Felix sit sub utroque diu.  
T, Er Felix quia te benè cepit Scotia,  
Anglia quod recipit laetaque Ierna cupit.   

MArtia lugubrem depone, Britannia, vultum,  
A Nglia laetitiae jactet ad Astra sonos.  
REgia namque Maria domum revocata quietem,  
INque utero Regem fert benè grata tibi.  
A Nglia pro dono tali redamato Mariam;  
Oblita est culpam namque Benigna tuam.   

BEllonae è Regno Studium, rixásque Beatrix  
EXpellit vultu, quo beat Astra, suo,  
AForma micat illa Venus, de Nunmine Juno,  
TAntaque ab ingenio, Pallas ut illa suo, est.  
REvera, ut nomen notat, & virtute Beatrix,  
INclyta quae meritis haec tria Regna beat.  
XAntus erit Thamesis, tenebrae lux, docta priusquam  
Musa queat meritis dicere digna tuis.   

ADventum tamen illa tuum gratatur, & ipso  
NOmine, quod redamat, facta Beata tuo est.  
NObilibus decus, & plebi solamen, utrisque  
ANNA ades à meritis Gloria, & altus Honos.   

INvictis Isabella animis adversa repulsit,  
SAnctaque in exilio robora mentis habet.  
ANgelico vultu, rebúsque Isabella secundis  
BElla oculis, gestu, fonte modesta manet.  
ERgo per Maria, & terras exempla Beatrix  
LEge sua cunctis Anna Isabella dedit.  
LEx benè vivendi tua vita est: Irruat ergo  
A, Nglia in applausus Scotia, jerna tuos.   
&  

ANNA tibi tribuit Divinar Gratia dotes  
NAtura vires exsuperante suas.  
NAtura altercans, & gratia dimicat; Annam  
AMbae namque suam concupiere Deam.   

INter utramque Micas Virgo nitidissimà Princeps  
NAtura, & supplex gratia facta tibi est.  
FOrma tua est elegans, facies pulcherima, mensque  
ALma, quibus gaudent Juno Minerva, Venus.  
NEc sine Germana remanes, tibi namque Maria est  
TAlibus à meritis, & pietate soror.  
ANatu, specie, vultu, Virtute Coronas  
Utraque ab Ingenio, consilióque merent.   

A Nnglia tollè animos, & jam tua commoda tandem  
NOscito Principibus facta Beata tuis.  
GGratia Magna tibi est Carolus mitissimus, illi  
LArga est in Bello, Pacéque cura tui.  
INque Piis Regina tibi, Virtutibus omne  
AEQuum de meritis námque Coronat Opus.    


Ad Utramque ANNAM.  
Everti nequit, Anna tum nitidissima nomen  
Semper idem inversum nomen utante manet:  
Maxima sic virtus semper tua five secundis  
Adversisve manet rebus ut ante fuit.  
Prima Ducem sequitur mira pietate Maritum  
Exilio constans altera & Anna Patrem  
Una tribus pietas causa est longinqua petendi,  
Exulis O Pietas! O Reducésque Pios!  
In Regem Pietas bene nota est Principis: Ergo  
Principis exilii causa fuisse pium est.   
Regiarum Vestrarum Celsitudinum, Celsitudinum, Humilimus Servus, A. S.   

A Pindorique Ode, upon the late Horri● and Damnable Whiggish Plot.  

I.  
DIssentiug Bigots, boast no more,  
Of Glorious Mischiefs heretofore;  
Not all the Troops your Godly Factions led,  
Bradshaw and Cromwell in their Head,  
Can vie single Shaftsbury  
For secure Arts of close-laid Villainy;  
They but the empty Types, the weighty substance Herald  
'Tis true these two great Leaders carried on  
Their bold Designs till Life was done;  
But when the viprous pair was crushed, the Wound  
They living made, closed and again was sound;  
Whilst he, like Serpents of more Poisonous kind,  
Where e'er he oncehis forked Tongue applies,  
Though in the Fatal Act he dies,  
Still leaves his Venom and his Sting behind.   

II.  
M—th and Fssex both were Stung,  
And many more by his Envenomed Tongue;  
And straight they all began to swell,  
From Sense and Reason straight they Fell;  
And Melancholy Fumes possessed their Brain,  
And they would all be Kings, and all would Reign,  
Hence their disordered passion springs,  
And spitting Venom on the best of Kings;  
Hence their attempts upon his Life & Throne;  
Hence all their secret Mysteries  
Of undermining Treacheries,  
And hidden Veins of Treasons yet unknown.  
But Thou, Great Charles, despise their vain Designs;  
The Unicorn, Supporter of thy Arms,  
'Gainst all their Poison bears sufficient Charms;  
And a much greater Power blows up their deepest Mines.   

III.  
Methinks the dark Cabal of Six I see,  
Double Triumvirate of Villainy;  
Exceeding that which went before  
In number much, in Mischief more:  
Caesar's Adopted Son does first appear;  
Art thou, (my Brutus) there?  
Thou that wert once so Great and Good;  
From the high place wherein you justly stood,  
How art thou fallen, O Lucifer?  
He once (like you,) was Fair and Bright,  
Chief Leader of the Glorious Hosts of Light;  
But long (alas!) he could not bear  
To see above him placed th' Eternal Kings Immediate Heir,  
He scorned Subjection, for a Kingdom fell;  
But gained Eternal Slavery and Hell:  
Thus while from Good to Ill they Headlong tend;  
The brightest Angel makes the blackest Fiend   

IU.  
Next Essex, once deservedly Great,  
Though since the Scorn and Mockery of Fate;  
Essex whose late Successful sway  
Made Ireland Peaceably obey;  
And followed well Great Ormond's Track, who led him all the way,  
His Father's Bright Example long prevailed,  
And that most Precious Legacy  
He left to him of Loyalty;  
(So the declining Sun, when chased by coming Night,  
Still guilds the World a while with the remains of Light:)  
But when that Hell and Shaftsbury assailed,  
His Noble Resolutions quickly failed,  
And all his former Virtues nought availed,  
Addresses and Petitions first,  
(For who can fall at once from good to worst?)  
Began the Game: and aiming to Betray,  
(Like Judas, All Hail Master, led the way.  
Unhappy man! who carried on  
Too sadly the Comparison!  
Tortured like him by his Despair,  
Like Him, he was his own sad Executioner.   

V  
Russel and Escrick next in order were;  
Nor did I much admire to see Them there:  
Happy the latter of the two, who since  
Has washed away his Faults in Humble penitence;  
And by a true Confession  
Of others Treason and his own,  
With his most Gracious Prince may for the last Atone.  
I wave the former, since he justly died,  
And by his Death has satisfied:  
But he has to himself been more unkind;  
And his own Libel left behind.  
Next Sidney comes; a Name  
In brave Sir Philip known to Fame  
For Perfect Wit and Loyalty:  
Though now by Algernoon marked with so black a die  
As does almost Eclipse the Fame of his Great Ancestry.  
Hambden the last; the worthy Son  
Of him well known in Forty One:  
Grand Patron of the Canting Tribe,  
How shall I thee Describe?  
None can draw thee according to thy due,  
But he that has the knack to Hang and Quarter too.   

VI  
These, and a numerous Train of many more,  
Their dark Designs did secretly contrive;  
Till Keeling who did long Connive,  
To sound their depth, and number all their store,  
Broke forth, & shone like Gold a midst the Ore.  
Against his Conscience nothing could prevail;  
Not Life and Interest in the other Scale:  
All other by-concerns he laid aside;  
And fixed his mind with Noble Pride  
Upon a Name so Good and Great,  
As sole Preserver of the Church and State.  
What Thanks for such Obligement shall we bring?  
Our Fortune and our Lives we own  
For what you did on us bestow;  
What then for our Religion, and our King?  
Take first our Hearts; while we can only Pray,  
God and his great Vicegerent will repay.   

VII.  
And now the Horrid Plot appears,  
Writ in the blackest Characters;  
And every Page some Bloody Title bears,  
Seditions, Treasons, Massacres.  
What in a King so Good, what could they see,  
To Arm that numerous Conspiracy  
Against so mild a Majesty;  
Which like the Sun, its beams does wear  
Not to Consume, but Warm and Cheer?  
Blessed Prince! and canst Thou still Dispense  
To this unthankful Land thy Gracious Influence,  
Still canst Thou shed thy Favours upon those  
That are the near Relations of thy Foes?  
Brave Capel and Southampton on this Hand,  
Essex and Russel on the other stand;  
He turned from these, and fixed his Princely view  
Upon the Nobler Object of the two;  
And as he looked, on all their Friends his willing Favours threw.  
Let Russel's Wife (said he) unpitied go;  
But shall Southamptons' Daughter fall so low?  
Essex his Son should want, 'tis true,  
But what shall then Brave Capel's Grandson do  
In his Indulgent Memory,  
So long great Virtues live, so soon Offences die   

VIII.  
Yet him, thus justly famed for mildness of His Reign  
The Bloody Faction dooms to die;  
And to Enhance their Cruelty,  
Would in his Royal Brother Murder him again;  
His Royal Brother, who had always been  
A Partner of the Troubles He was in;  
Of all his dangers bore a share,  
And still with him Joynt-Sufferer:  
Even him their Hellish rage Assails;  
The Hercules, that when our Atlas fails,  
Must with his Shoulders prop the sinking state,  
And beat unmoved the mighty weight.  
With them the Loyal, all the Good and Great  
Must meet an unrelenting Fate;  
For those by strong Antipathy they hate.   

IX.  
Nor can the Church escape this Cursed Band:  
What once was to the worst a Sanctuary,  
Can to its self no refuge be;  
That with the State does always fall or stand:  
And may both stand till Time itself has end;  
And still each other mutually defend:  
For whilst with open Force, or secret Hate,  
The two extremes assault the State;  
The English Church keeps on her steady pace,  
Fixed in the middle, Virtue's place;  
Nor e'er Rebelled against the Throne,  
Under whose Gracious shade 'twas planted, and has grown.  
But as the Ivy, with whose Verdant Boughs  
Her Learned Sons may justly wreathe their Bows  
Does round the Elm its loving Branches twine;  
And when the Axe its kind support assails,  
That also feels the Stroke, and with it fails:  
So while the Church and State their strict Embraces join;  
The same rude Blow, that overturns the Crown,  
Strikes its loved Partner too, & hews her down.   

X.  
Ah! wretched England! how art Thou,  
The World's late Envy, made its Laughter now?  
Is't not enough, that Foreign Foes  
Disturb thy quiet, and thy Peace oppose?  
But must thy Children, like young Vipers, tear  
The womb which did them bear?  
Hast thou so few abroad, that Thou must be  
Thy own most dreadful Enemy?  
At length Unhappy Land thy Errors view;  
And give to Caesar, and to God their due;  
Leave Factious Arts, nor let so stolen a Cheat  
Twice in one Age impose upon the State:  
Murmur no more, when you should Thanks repay;  
And value Mercies, lest they fly away:  
For they who spurn at God, deserve to suffer worse;  
And Blessings, (when abused,) oft turn into a Curse.    

A Pindaric Ode, upon His Majesty's Review of His Forces at Putney-Heath.  

I.  
THou more than happy Plain,  
Thus honoured with this Glorious Train,  
The Awful Monarch of Blessed Albion's Isle,  
With all His Martial Pomp around  
Thus Circled, and thus more than Crowned;  
A Sight would make even withered Autumn  
And the proud Thames in passing by smile;  
Th' August Solemnity,  
With a slow Ebb his Rolling waves convey  
Down to their Mother SEA,  
To pay their Humbler Homage to th' Adored  
Great Charles the Sea Dread Sovereign Lord.  
Imperial CAESAR here  
Does no Associating Senates fear.  
These Loyal Walls of Steel untainted stand  
Whilst faithless Capitols with Royal Gore,  
Schism, Sacrilege, and Treason blotted o'er,  
Eternal Shame and Deathless Infamy shall brand.  
No more are our Battalions led  
By an ungrateful Brutus in their Head.  
Th'avenging Deity from that high Sphere  
Has thrown the falling Lucifer:  
And the Great Heir of that Immortal Man,  
Monk, who our Sun's bright Phosphor, first began  
To mend the broken Wheels, and set the vast Machine  
Of Monarchy a moving once again,  
Now wields the Royal Sword,  
To Guard that Majesty's Renowned Sire restored.   

II.  
Let the Old Roman Triumphs boast no more,  
Their Costly Pomp of Yore.  
What were their Golden Chariots? What  
Those Shining Scenes of State?  
O'er Vassals Heads They only Road:  
O'er Prostrate Hearts we'll Mount our Driving GOD.  
Whilst Hecatombs of offered Souls shall come,  
With one Rich Incense, One Presume;  
Till Towering to the Sky,  
The Universal Great Oblation fly;  
The Roman Eagles all Out-soared, Outvy'd  
Their Pageants, all their gilded Pride,  
A Trajan Column or Egyptian Pyramid;  
Poor Piles of Earth, and Monuments of Clay,  
Farneze, far beneath the Rites we Pay:  
When our united Shouts, Vows, Prayers, all Circling round his Head,  
Their more than Coronation Drops shall Shed:  
Whilst the Victorious Charles shall March  
Under that Brightest, Greatest, most Divine Triumphal Arch.   

III.  
And Sacred Charles to Crown this Glorious Day,  
Loud let Thy Canons roar, so Bright thy Bannors play;  
And hold thy Glittering Brandished Sword so High.  
Till Treasons Awed and Silenced lie;  
Till Bursting Envy die.  
Till the Dread Sight alone  
Has that entire, and Bloodless Conquest won,  
Shall make the Hissing Tongues of Murmur  
All hushed into a Calm, and Dazzled into Peace.  
Thus Conquering, thy Halcyon Reign shall be  
But one Long Jubilee.  
Whilst Thou our Dearer, Greater Jove,  
The Greater, tho' less Thundering Name,  
Thy Lightning all but Lambent Flame,  
Crowned with Miraculous Mercy Sits above,  
And all Beneath Thee LOVE.  
Mercy more Wondrous far  
Than thy own Native Noonday STAR.  
A Mercy so prodigious as t' excel  
All but thy RESTAURATION Miracle.  
Mercy that even Heaven's hardest Toil  
FANATICISM shall reconcile:  
Soften th'inveterate Hate of Church and Crown,  
And all the Iron Hearts melt down.  
Mercy and Charles all this Stupendious work shall do;  
Nay move without a Pang the Mighty Labour through.   

iv  
But whilst this Faithful Band's unshaken Loyalty  
For Charles dares Fight, and for Him die;  
'Tis as the GOD'S Devotion treats  
With precious Odours; all no more  
Than Heaps from their own Store:  
The Gums which their own Sun creates.  
'Tis all but a Creation of thy own,  
Whilst Charles is his own Guard alone,  
Inspires that Loyalty protects his Throne.  
Nor is alone this Loyal Host,  
Th' Auxiliary thy Cause can boast.  
For let'em cover all the spacious Plain,  
Nay add ten Thousands more to fill the Gloririous Train:  
Great Charles, not half thy Guards are here;  
Heavens kindest Angels in that List appear,  
They lead the Mighty Van, and These bring up the Rear.    

The Melancholy Complaint of Doctor TITUS OATS.  

WHat could a cursed ungrateful Age do more,  
Impostor-like, to punish him so sore,  
Whom for a Saviour, they adored before.   

I was the man, Oh! cruel change of Fate:  
Once, the Pillar of the sinking State,  
Am now become the very Jayl-birds hate,   

Out of a palace, into a Dungeon thrust,  
From six good Dishes, to snap at one brown Crust,  
By God and man like Cain, marked out and cursed.   

Is this the end of all my promised Joys,  
I that once made such bustle, and such Noise,  
Puffed up with Triumphs of the shouting Boys.   

With what applause was I received by th'Rabble  
When I gave hopes for to rebuild their Babel;  
But now they'll hang me, 'cause I was not able.   

With watering Chaps, I call to mind the cheer,  
That oft I made with many a Noble Peer,  
Now in good time may snack the Basket here.   

I do remember too how tumbling Pence  
Came rolling in when I did first commence  
Master of th' Art, and Doctor Evidence,  
For want of which I never shall get hence.   

'Tis strange, that Bolts, and Bars, and Iron Grates,  
The just reward of perjured Rogues, and Cheats,  
Should prove the Praemimum of my Glorious feats,   

Ungrateful Slaves! What! have ye quite forgot  
How for your sakes strange Kingdoms I did troth,  
Brought nothing but th' wonder of my Plot;   

Though many shifts abroad I have been put too  
Scarce able to provide for Back and Gut too,  
And oftentimes was forced to pad a foot too,   

Nay, many times I've lain all day in Bed,  
Because abroad I durst not show my head  
But when't grew dark, stole out to beg my bread   

What I have suffered for the Kingdom's sake,  
In wants and dangers what I did partake,  
And now to fear the Gibbet or the Stake,  
Brethren, 'twill cause your tender hearts to ache.   

I cursed my Country, and denied, my Credo,  
And for the Nations good, turned Renegado,  
Received Cruel Whitebread's Bastinado,   

I worshipped Idols that were false I knew;  
And when I'd done, swore they were Gods most true;  
And played the Devil for the sakes of you;   

I prayed to Saints, in time of need, with cries,  
Till they had granted my necessities,  
My Alms obtained their Saintships I'd despise;   

I changed Religion, often as my Name,  
Spewed out and hated whatsoever I came,  
Haunted by th'Devil, Beggary and shame,   

Through the wild Sects, and Tribes, I made a Ramble  
And to them all did lie, swear, and dissemble,  
Enough to make the very Devils tremble,   

Thus by me were the silly Jesuits shamed;  
When as with tears I swore I should be damned  
If not received into their Holy Band.   

I made them think Religion was the Tie,  
That did engage me when I came to Spy,  
Since 'tis well known, the Devil a bit had I   

I made his Holiness believe, the Pope,  
That in his Pardons I conceived such hope,  
That for his cause, I'd suffer Fire or Rope;   

But when I'd got my foot out of his door,  
I Railed, and called him Babylonian Whore,  
And many Horrid things against him swore;   

For why? I ne'er yet valued Faith or Troth.  
Or ever made more scruple of an Oath,  
Then of a blast of breath to cool my Broth.   

I quickly killed the worm, within that gnaws,  
And made the Gospel, Prophets, and the Laws,  
Come truckle Brethren, to your good Old Cause;   

I laughed at all Religion, and its Baubles;  
Such as Evangelists and holy Tables;  
Esteeming them no more than Aesop's Fables;   

Like merry Lucian, looked on't as a Tale;  
A dull insipid thing, grown Old and Stolen,  
Serves me to joak on o'er a pot of Ale;   

I scosted & scorned, but ne'er would cringe or bow  
To those grave fools that do such tales allow,  
And would have judged them to the Cart or Blow   

That with you I might gain repute and fame,  
I laughed at Conscience as a  name;  
And shook off quite all modesty and shame,   

In hopes once more you'd come to rule the Roast,  
I made myself Knight-errant of the Post;  
Of which I take the vanity to boast;   

For good of Commonwealth without repine,  
I frankly Dedicated me, and mine,  
Contemning Laws, both humane, and divine;   

Vast Sums I in the public service spent?  
Much Money to the needy Jesuit Lent,  
When at that time, I'd neither Land nor Rent;   

The corresponding Charges I did own,  
When to the Lords my just accounts were shown  
Besides some By-ones more than e'er were known   

The many painful journeys, to and fro,  
Ambassador 'twixt Devil, and Turk to go,  
To all the World my vast Expenses show;   

Besides for Flying-Horses which would scour,  
To France or Spain, and back in half an hour,  
With Old Nicks Fees for granting me this power   

I mortgaged all my Heritage and Lands,  
To purchase from the Roman General's hands  
Commissions for my new raised secret Bands;   

But Oh! the Devil poor man was ne'er so crossed  
When God knows what those Roman Bulls had cost,  
Lo! suddenly they vanished, and were lost,   

To Mulciber for strange and curious Arms,  
Made with such cunning magic spells, & charms,  
To fright and fear, and do no further harms;   

Procuring of rich Cordials for the King,  
The which I judged, the safest and surest thing,  
Him to his bed, of longest rest to bring;   

For Blunderbuss, or Cross-bow, I count nought  
Because for secret services they were bought;  
Besides, were not well managed as they ought;   

At many other charges I have been,  
For preservation of the Duke and Queen,  
And swearing things were never heard nor seen;   

For Doctor-shipand Salamanca Fees;  
Where Pistoles flew away as thick as Bees;  
Pox on their University degrees,   

For Ancient Books, that I in Egypt bought,  
From the famed Ptolemaeus Study brought  
No Gipsy gibberish one's, as some have thought   

I bought in Spain, the witty Guzman's works,  
The Holy League 'twixt Teckley, and the Turks  
With Matchiavel's, state-niceties and quirks,   

All this, and more, I freely did disburse,  
For th' Nations good out of my privy purse  
And never thought myself a groat the worse.   

But this is nothing to a thousand more,  
Good services, that I have still in store,  
Such as the Devil himself, ne'er did before.   

The many famous deeds that I have done,  
Since I the Kingdoms mighty work begun,  
Have made Catch half as rich as squire Dun;   

What Tongue can tell with how much cunning Art  
I did contrive my Plot in every part,  
Of which the Tories should have felt the smart.   

For whom I list, of It I could accuse,  
If to compound with me they did refuse,  
I swore good Christians to be Turks and Jews:   

The Jesuits I set like any Spaniel,  
To do their Work I had a ready Panel.  
That scarce would give them time to buy them Flannel   

I watched for Priests, as Cat doth watch for Mouse  
At midnight, Lowbelling from house to house,  
Though here each night I'm forced to hunt for Louse.   

I railed at th'Privy Council, and at Scrogs,  
And called them damned confounded Popish dogs,  
'Cause they'd not hang all those which I called Rogues.   

Those were my golden days, my days of Power,  
When Great ones feared me, when I sent each hour  
At least a score to Newgate, and the Tower;   

I made them tremble at my very word,  
Which did the work as sure as any Sword,  
Though now 'tis no more valued than a T—   

Then was I stout, as I St. George had been,  
At th' Commons Bar to stick I ne'er was seen  
Of Treason to accuse Lord, Duke or Queen,   

No man durst thwart me, with desire of pelf,  
I raged and grew to such a peevish Elf,  
Had the King vexed me, I had peacht Himself;   

For at that time I'd brought things to such a pass,  
In open Court, I'd bid'em kiss my A—  
But now the times are changed Alas! Alas!   

I was by most Sir Reverenced and respected  
From Popish Treasons by my Guards protected,  
Tho now like Rogue I'm sligted and neglected.   

Each word that from my sacred lips than fell,  
Received were as holy Oracle,  
Tho' now they say 'twas all the craft of Hell.   

I Ruled and Reigned in mighty pomp and state,  
Whilst in the House my Lords and Masters sat,  
I furnished them with business of debate.   

'Twas pretty in those days good faith to see  
Your Popishly affected Lords with Fee,  
And Cap in hand come sneaking after me.   

They feared my very menaces and frown,  
Dreaded my anger more than of the Crown,  
For I could pull their lofty Stomaches down.   

I was the Tories Plague, their Iron Rod,  
I huft the Bishops, on their Mitres trod,  
Swore what I list, feared neither Man nor God.   

Just as I pleased, State-matters I'd dispose,  
Found the King's Friends to be the Kingdom's Foes;  
To smell out Traitors none had such a Nose.   

I pointed out Menworthy, Wise, and Just,  
Whom I thought fit for Offices of Trust,  
And told the King those were the men he must   

Advance, and those great Officers of State,  
Well known against their good or evil fate  
Depended much on my politic Pate;   

For those that did not Romanists annoy,  
And their Adherents hated more destroy,  
I thought it fit their places to enjoy;   

But by Adherents, would you know what's meant  
For 'tis a word of very large extent,  
All those whom we thought fit to circumvent.   

I did advise the Kingdom to disgrace  
The next Successor of the Royal Race,  
And to exalt a Bastard in his place.   

The King I Counceled into better hands,  
To the Navy and the trained Bands,  
Content himself to live on his Crown-lands,   

T'leave Popish Councils, follow better courses,  
Turn out his Guards, those Mercenary Forces,  
Live privately, and keep a brace of Horses,   

His Guards did terrify good peaceful men,  
He might go live, and trust himself with them,  
As safe as Daniel in the Lion's Den;   

I did commend him to the Commons care,  
Wished him t'obey, by whispering in his Ear,  
The disobedience of his Father dear.   

If he'd be wise, and ruled by them no doubt,  
And turn his old and wealthy minions out,  
Soon all his business, would be brought about;   

They'd give him money, or what else he pleased,  
When he his Subjects of their Yoke had eased,  
And every squeamish Conscience was appeased.   

I always prayed for the Parliaments sitting,  
And that too as long as their Worship's thought fitting,  
Because when they met, they minded their knitting.   

For had they sat on I was in fair hopes  
To have got an Estate by cutting of Throats,  
But now I shall never be worth Ten Groats.   

For I deserved the Manor of Bobbing,  
For Plarliament business and other jobbing,  
As well as a Thief a Halter for Robbing.   

The next good service that I did the Crown,  
Was to possess the Country and the Town,  
They'd ne'er be safe till Monarchy came down.   

That Monarchy unjustly still bereaves  
Of Liberty, and makes poor Subject's Slaves,  
And is upheld by prating Fools and Knaves:   

To prove it by example, I did choose  
Some Stories of the old Rebellious Jews,  
With some late Manuscripts of Doctor Hugh's.   

For in those days when Israel had no King,  
Without control, men might do any thing,  
Live merrily, and go t'Heaven in a String.   

I oft did from the lofty Pulpit ball,  
And (not obscurely) hinted to them All,  
To trust not much, some Great Ones at White-Hall.   

I told Designs were hatching many years,  
On both sides whispered Jealousies and Fears,  
In hopes they'd fall together by the Ears:   

I raised up Storms and Tempests in the State,  
That threatened all the Ship with dreadful Fate,  
In hopes I should be Chosen Master's Mate,   

For why, my Skill in Plotting was even such,  
That I had learned of the Neighbouring Dutch,  
That at the choice the Sailors would not grudge▪   

By their own Compass I my course would steer  
From Popish Shoals, and Sands, still keeping clear,  
Nor lofty Rocks of Tyranny come near.   

But Oh! the Fates! the Tempest was descried,  
The jealous Master all the matter spied,  
And I was in the Hold fast bound and tied.   

I had a Post each moment sent from Hell,  
A nimble Spark, that new my Genius well,  
With express Orders purposely to tell,   

And teach me every thing that's done above,  
Or underneath the mighty Throne of Jove,  
And all his pains was purely for my love.   

For by this means I knew of things to come,  
As well as what in elder times was done;  
And by it all my former Credit won.   

For in those days who was so great as I?  
Or could so soon strange Mysteries espy?  
'Twas almost death to give me but the Lye.   

I told the Parliament, how that the Queen  
After the murdered Justice She had seen,  
Made a low Courtesy to Hill, and Green.  
And thanked, them kindly for the pains they'd ta'en.   

I saw the Duke; in Parliament I swore,  
I did believe through sixteen Doors, and more,  
Communicating with the Roman Whore.   

I called him stubborn Rogue, that ne'er would bend,  
And told them plainly he was not their Friend,  
Therefore advised them to contrive his end.   

I worked it so, for all his great Commands,  
I made him glad to scape out of their hands,  
By shifting for himself in foreign Lands.   

I raved and went on, and was't not pretty  
To accuse the King in the secret Committee,  
And jeer him at Clubbs and Cabals i'th' City.   

I wondered how brave English Heroes could  
Be Ruled and Governed by the Scottish Blood,  
Such Servitude I ne'er esteemed good.   

Therefore their indignation to appease,  
If that they'd issue forth a Writ of Ease,  
I'd serveed on Him when their Honours please.   

I taught the people that since Babel-Tower,  
From them alone Kings did derive their power,  
Whom if they pleased they might change every hour.   

From Club to Club made drunk where  I came,  
I loudly railed against the STVARTS Name,  
And did their Father's Persecutions blame.   

I made Dissenting Saints believe that He  
Designed t'ensnare their Souls and Liberty,  
And on Him shamed the Irish Massacre.   

I praised old Noll the Army's Bully-Rock,  
With those good men that brought Him to the Block,  
Him above all that gave the fatal knock:   

I cursed the Fates of that unlucky day  
Wherein Old Rowley strangely slipped away,  
And would not for his Friends at Worcester stay.   

I wished the Devil might th'Popish Traitor choke  
That hide Him from us in the rotten Oak,  
Which is as true a word as e'er I spoke:   

A sneaking Dog whose conscience was so nice,  
A Thousand pounds would not the Thiefentice,  
I would have done't for half the money, twice.   

With grief I celebrate that Feast in May  
Which Tories call their great Thanksgiving day,  
As for a Judgement than I fast and pray.   

These are the Services I've done the Nation  
As a forerunner of new Resormation  
And to make way for the Association,   

For which I should to great preferment rise,  
Rewarded and advanced above the Skies  
By th' keepers of the English Liberties.   

This to be true, Time would have proved my words,  
Better than Bar of Commons, or of Lords,  
By the fair Trial of your Pikes and Swords,   

For as Reformers must, I've wrought some wonders,  
Which should have been confirmed by Warlike Thunder▪  
Made out by 〈◊〉, Sacrilege, and Plunder▪   

With Roman Bulls, Black-bills, and Smithfied Spits,  
I frighted three Kingdoms out of their Wits,  
And made them fall into Convulsion-fits.   

I made them on a sudden fly to Prayer,  
For fear of Mountains falling from the Air,  
Which made some soft Pates, of their Brains despair.   

Some choose to die by true Protestant Ropes,  
And some for fear of Papists, cut their Throats,  
For which they were beholding unto Oales;   

Whilst others frighted with the hideous cries  
Of Fairy Armies fight in the Skies,  
By gazing up, lost both their Heads and Eyes.   

Some thought the Island was just running round,  
No steady place of sooting to be found,  
For fear they run away and left the ground.   

That Roman Cannibals in furious mood,  
Were coming to destroy th'Protestants brood,  
And eat them all at once for want of food.   

No man could 〈◊〉 on Pillow lay down's head,  
As in full Senate learnedly One said,  
Lest he might ●ise with● Throat cut in's Bed;   

For as we are told by a deceased Squire  
In's Narratives of Massacres and Fire  
How narrowly we scaped the Papists Ire:   

That they had made the great Vesuvian Hills  
Into Fire-balls as small as Doctor's Pills.  
And secretly conveyed them o'er in Quills:   

The Traitorous Jesuits, and their cursed backers,  
Had made mount Aetna in Squibs and Crackers  
To throw, & burn our  to Rags & Tatters   

All this was but a Trial of my Skill,  
Like th'Exercise of Quixot and his Mill,  
I was resolved to do more wonders still;   

I raised forty thousand of the Dead  
Soldiers that from their Camp last Age were fled  
And fed them underground with Gingerbread   

Armies of Pilgrims I called out of Spain,  
Embarked in a Nutshell safely on the Main  
And in a trice conveyed them back again.   

I made a Prince that was of little stature,  
With half a word, a tall and comely Creature,  
My very breath changed him in every feature;   

I raised up gyges, robbed him of his Ring,  
And by that means conversed with many a King  
So secretly, Themselves knew not th● thing;   

I begged of Juno, Argus' head and eyes  
To place abroad in Prince's Courts for spies,  
So that I knew of every Enterprise:   

I knew all mankind living on the Earth,  
Set private marks upon them at their Birth,  
Which caused amongst some people wondrous mirth;   

Though now and then I bawkt by Candle light,  
Pox on my senses, and my duller sight,  
Can not diserna Squire from a Knight.   

These and a thousand other pretty pranks  
I've played with men of all degrees and Ranks,  
For which I did expect some better thanks.   

I little thought that this sweet Face of mine,  
That looks so like a Reverend Grave Divine,  
Should come so soon through Iron Grates to shine.   

I never dreamt of such rewards as these,  
Whilst that I lived in Palaces of ease,  
Sporting with my pretty Gammedes▪   

Nor did I think my Labours and my ●oyles  
Should be rewarded in the common jails,  
'twould make ● Welshman swear, Gu●s plu●●er her Nai●●.   

But Oh! see what the destinies have brought to pass,  
That folks at last should make me such an Ass,  
As to keep Colts with Oats instead of Gras●▪   

I thought the Nation would have paid my s●ore,  
For a reward have thrown me something more,  
But now I see I am deceived full sore.   

As holy Musselmen do count and write  
Their great Hegira from their Prophet's flight,  
When for Rebellion he was banished quite.   

So may I date my woes from that same day,  
My Polish Princely Patron run away,  
And left his people in the mire and clay.   

Why did he not take me with him to dwell,  
When he embarked for Holland and for Hell▪  
I ne'er shall get there half so safe and well.   

My mind long since presages dreadful things,  
With tortured cries my Ears already rings,  
And think each man some fatal tiding▪ brings▪   

My Tongue that never failed me yet, now falters▪  
I dream of nothing but of Hemp and Hyher,  
And frightful Visions of the Rye-house Ma●●ers.   

Methinks I see some of my Friends come o'er,  
And because to me from the Stygian Shore,  
All pale, and wan, and weltered in their gore.   

Methinks I see each night stern vengeance stand  
Over my head with naked Sword in hand,  
Threatening Est Soons to rid me of the Land.   

Oft times I dream of those bald ghastly Pates  
O'th' Bridge, and Quarters o'er the City Gates,  
Pitying (as 'twere my own) those poor men's fates.   

And then I fear, lest the just Fates decree  
As a Reward for my Fidelity,  
The Doctor to adorn the Triple-Tree.   

But hang me Sirs, if e'er you catch me there,  
When once I've brought myself into the snare,  
In verbo Sacerdotis I'll declare   

The truth of all and every thing I knew,  
Which will I'm sure make many men look blue;  
Though I lied living, dying I'll speak true.    

An account of an Apparition that appeared to TITUS OATS.  

SOme night last passed, as I (accursed) lay,  
Tumbling and Tossing, wishing long for day;  
Just fallen into a Sleep, I did Espy  
(Methought) some frightful Things approaching nigh  
My trembling Bed: Those who at first appeared,  
Were naked Men with Crimson Blood besmeared,  
Dragging their ●owels trailing at thei● Heel,  
Their Breasts ripped open, wanted Hearts to feel:  
They gently came and drew near to m● Bed,  
Showed what, & who they were, but nothing said  
At which I then (though ne'● before turned red  
In every Gesture you might plainly find,  
A Soul composed, and a well ordered 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
They knew me not, their Thoughts did 〈◊〉 more  
Their Eyes & Thoughts were fixed above the Sky  
But with true Consort each did Sing this Song,  
O Lord most Holy, Lord most Just, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉?  
Just following them, came Two so closely joined  
As Matrimonial Bands had e'er designed  
For Man and Wife, (perhaps they so might be,)  
The one drest-Man-like, t'other contrary;  
The Robes he wore were of a Scarlet dye,  
Of Aspect Reverend, full of Gravity:  
In whose right Hand fast held (methought) I saw  
A Book, Entitled, Govern by the Law.  
Her Dress as Vestal Nuns are made to wear,  
From Head to Foot, did purely White appear;  
Whose Eyes were Covered with the 〈◊〉 Lawn;  
In her right Hand a Naked Sword was drawn,  
Pointed towards me, at which I trembled more,  
Then at the Bleeding sight I saw before,  
As if she knew me, she did boldly come,  
Inquird for Conscience, I replied, from ' home;  
Quoth she, How long? I said, I could not tell,  
She very seldom used with Me to dwell.  
Then with a Bold (I thought commanding) word  
To th' Scarlet Gown cries, Judgement given my Lord  
He seemed reserved, and would bu● 〈◊〉 say,  
Yet shook his Head, Look▪ d 〈◊〉, and went away,  
With 〈◊〉 Signs of a severer day  
●● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 from that most 〈◊〉 Dream,  
And 〈◊〉 I 〈◊〉 upon the 〈◊〉 Theme.  
Alas those 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I hourly feel,  
Are now 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 than I can reveal,  
〈…〉 than ● could tell,  
〈…〉 Conscience is to Hell▪  
My 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, like Vipers daily tear  
My 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and I'm all despair:  
The 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 was more mild than mine,  
He 〈…〉 of his Treacherous Crime▪  
〈…〉 to that Cursed Else.  
〈…〉 to hang Himself.  
But I more miserable far than He  
Who dare not do what none will do for me,  
Ungrateful Hetch where's thy Civility!  
You know that lately, might I had my Will,  
And Cornishes and Bethels Sheriffs still,  
I would have sworn whilst Death had Power to Kill,  
And was in all Superlatively ill.  
For I, more fierce than all the Devils, hurled,  
And strove to turn to Chaos all the World:  
For which I'm Plagued, and Burn with more than fire  
By the strict vengeance of the Almighty's Ire.  
To Heaven I dare not look, that Glorious Throne  
Did evermore my Hateful Crimes disown.  
Th' Infernal Spirits seem to dread me too,  
Or envy that my Crimes did theirs outdo.  
Proscribed by all, Where wretched shall I fly?  
To hid my Gild from GOD ' s All-searching Eye  
— But hold, have I not read  
Pythagoras' Faith, and what the Egyptians said  
Of Transmigration of the Souls of Men▪  
Into some Birds or Beasts, alas! what then▪  
Where may I search? for either Beast or 〈◊〉  
Deserves the Plague of such a Loaded Soul  
What Land e●r so accursed as to produce  
So foul a Creature, to so foul a Use,  
Unless perhaps on that Unhallowed Ground  
Where my Learned Tutor died, such may be found  
If that proves true, than Titus thou art blest,  
And ●n that hope, accursed Oats take rest,    

A Paradox against Liberty, Written by the Lords, during their Imprisonment in the Tower.  

A Prison, or the Isle, are much the same;  
They only differ in Conceit and Name.  
As Art the first, Nature Immures the last;  
Only i'th' larger Mould her Figure's cast.  
All Islanders are in a Prison penned,  
And none at large, not those o'th' Continent.  
Each Mariner's a Prisoner in his Bark.  
The living World was prisoned in the Ark.  
And though it be abroad a days; the Light  
Still lodges in the Prison of black Night.  
The Sea itself, is to its bounds confined,  
And Aeolus in Caves shut up the wind:  
Nothing in nature has such vast Extent,  
But is imprisoned in its Element.  
The Fish in watery Dungeons are enclosed;  
Men, Beasts, and Birds, to Earth and Ayr disposed.  
If to enlarge their narrow bounds, they strive,  
The fatal freedom rarely they survive.  
And as with them, we hope with Us 'twill be,  
When from their Prisons took, Death sets them free.  
Man can no more a native freedom boast;  
That Jewel ne'er was found, since first't was lost  
'twas then transported to the Stygian Coast.  
But still there's something which we do esteem,  
Only because 'tis like the polished Gem,  
And this we Freecom call; its credit grows  
From a false stamp, the guilded outside shows:  
Which a varitious Man attempts to get,  
Cheated and ruined with the Counterfeit.  
Like Children, Soapy-Bubbles they pursue,  
And the fantastic Vision, take for true;  
But whilst they think bright forms they do embrace,  
Ixion like, they find a cloud i'th' place.  
Consent of Crowds exceeding credit brings,  
And seems to stamp Truth's Image on false things,  
Not what's a real good, but what does seem,  
Still shares the blind and popular esteem,  
Whilst Sense and fancy overrule their choice,  
And Reason in th' Election has no voice.  
But Souls in vain have Reason's Attribute.  
If to the Rule, they cannot Sense submit.  
Hence the Heriock mind makes no complaint,  
But freedom does Enjoy, even in restraint.  
When Chains and Fetters do their Body bind,  
He than appears more free, and less confined.  
Discord and Care, which do distract him here,  
In durance take their leave and come not there.  
False Friends and Flatterers, then take last adieu  
Who often swore how faithful and how true,  
Things their dishonest bosoms never knew.  
These like the Swallows, in cold weather sly;  
A Summer's fortune only draws them nigh.  
Flatterers a sort of fatal Suckers be,  
Which draw the Sap till they destroy the Tree.  
Fair Virtue to their Ob●icks when they bring,  
Seems a deformed and antiquated thing.  
Vice they commend, whilst Virtue is despised;  
The blackest by these Negroes most are prized.  
These slaves to Vice, do hug so hard and long,  
Till like the o'erfond Ape, they kill their Young.  
Ambition in the Mind's a Feverish Thirst,  
Which is by drinking drier than at First;  
And these will feed the humour till it burst▪  
When Parasites the Arbiter are made,  
They● place the Garland on a Beadlam's head.  
Riot, Excess, and Pleasure car' the Day,  
And Lust (the worst of Tyrants) bears the sway  
At whose black Throne they blind Allegiance pay.  
Morose ●●d 〈◊〉 they do account the Grave;  
And the M●e●-man sit only for a Slave▪  
The Humble of a Nature poor and base;  
The Cha●●●●●●ng a dull insipid Race;  
And Temp●rance a Gallant's chief disgrace.  
In Virtue's garb, the great Man's Vice they dress,  
Giving it names with sound of Worthiness.  
They call his Pride the Graniduer of his mind,  
And for his lust the Name they have designed  
〈◊〉 a Compli●a●●●●yr, that makes men kind▪  
Profaneness is his Wit; and his Excess  
By a Gay janty Humour they express;  
All his Debauches too must be no less▪  
Thus they lap ruin up, and gild our Crimes  
But Vice destroys, like Ivy, where it climbs  
In us the dangrous state th' Ambitious see  
Of Greatness, Avarice, and Flattery.  
Gifts, Honour, Office, Greatness, Grace of Kings,  
Raise the Ambitious upon treacherous wings.  
Till from the mighty heights they giddy grow,  
And fall into the Ruin lies below.  
If the first fail, which do support our state,  
The last our fall serve to percipitate.  
This with to dear Experience we have bought,  
And learned a Lesson, which too late was taught.  
Prosperity's a Drug that must be ta'en  
Corrected, (Opium like) or else 'tis bane  
A more Lethargic quality's in her,  
Than ever yet in Opium did appear.  
Her fatal Poison to the Mind she sends,  
And uncorrect, in sure destruction ends.  
Whilst in the way her guilded snares she lays,  
Easie and credulous Man she soon betways;  
Who sees her ●o●es and her Lilies here▪  
But her concealed Snakes doth never fear.  
Prosperity a repasts pu●● up the Mind  
With unsubstantial and unwholesome wind  
'tis a 〈…〉 do use▪  
And 〈…〉▪  
But when Affliction moulds your daily bread,  
'Tis then the staff of Life with which she's fed.  
Affliction (like the River Nile) bestows  
Her fruitful blessings wheresoever she flows:  
And if when she withdraws, strange Serpents rise  
Not in her streams, but in Soil, it lies.  
Which (like the great Apollo) she strikes dead,  
By the same Influence they first were bred,  
If she return, and show her hidden head.  
Great minds (like the victorious palms) are wont  
Under the Weights of Fortune more to mount.  
Strongly suppressed, and hurled upon the ground,  
Filled with sublimer thoughts they more rebound  
Still careless whether Fortune smile or frown,  
Whether she give, or take away a Crown.  
Our Walls are Tided, and by that we know  
She always ebbs, when she doth leave to flow,  
And constant in Inconstancy does grow.  
Make an attack all Injuries that can,  
They shall like Waves beneath a rising Swan.  
Freed and secured from all discordant Care,  
Here we our heads above the billows bear,  
Till from our shoulders they transplanted are.  
And from their summits, with dum gapes proclaim  
Of a Quincumvirat the traitorous shame.  
But during all this Storm, we still do find  
An Anchor and a Haven in our Mind,  
Not beaten now, though then exposed to th' Wind  
As Nightingales, our bosoms we expose,  
And sing, environed with the sharpest woes.  
Degraded from vain Honour, here we grow  
More great and high, as Trees by lopping do.  
Honour's like froth in each Man's glass of Beer;  
'Tis least of use, though topmost it appear;  
The common Vouchee for ill acts she's grown;  
It and Religion all our Mischiefs own.  
She reigns in Youth with an unruly heat,  
And in her falser Mirror shows them Great,  
Till Age and Time convince them of the cheat.  
Rash heads approve what sober Men despise,  
And the fantastic Garb offends the Wise;  
She rarely now is seen but in Disguise.  
True Honour and plain Honesty's the same;  
From various Dwellings, comes the various Name:  
For whilst she gay in Courts, she's Honour there,  
But Honesty with Us in Durance here.  
In differing States, most things have difference:  
What pleased this day, the next offends the Prince.  
The Prosperous loath what the Afflicted love;  
Prisoners abhor, what free they did approve.  
And still there's power in each Man's choice to make,  
Himself content, if he can wisely take,  
And think his own (though hard) a happy Stake.  
In every state does some Contentment dwell,  
And here we find a Palace in a Cell.  
Good is good ev'ry where, and every thing,  
And good can of itself no evil bring.  
All good's a ray of the first Light alone,  
When Ill approaches, only that's our own,  
virtue's not gained by spending of our days  
In pleasure, Princes Courts, or from the Rays.  
At virtue's Coast by Travel we arrive,  
And so by Travel Virtue's kept alive.  
She dwindles if she want due Exercise;  
But used, grows brighter and still multiplies▪  
Virtue increases, Snow-ball-like, rolled on●  
A lazy virtue's next of kin to None.  
Prisoners indeed they be, that do lay by  
At once their Freedom and their Industry.  
If Men turn Drones within their honeyed Hives,  
It lies i'th' Prisoners heart. and not his Gyves▪  
The good grows better here, the bad grows worse,  
The Spur that mai●es this go, does jade that Horse.  
Hence the great'st part are malcontent and sad  
Since that the Good are fewer than the bad.  
A Bliss that springs from penitential joy,  
Is the Minds balsam in each sharp Annoy;  
Fools only their own Comfort do destroy  
To this Recrement we can freely go,  
'Tis the great'st pace of Majesty below:  
Or stirring out imports the World to know▪  
The Go●ler', Centinel to guard our Doors,  
And Castles are contained i'th' narrow Floors▪  
More happy and more safe, secured from Foes,  
Than those whom Troops of Enemies enclose  
Much more as Prisoners, our high bliss we boast,  
Being secured from such a mighty Host  
Of deadly Foes, so fierce with wrath & might,  
Ourselves so feeble, and unfit to fight  
'Gainst the black band of vicious and Profane,  
Who thousands do undo in each Campain.  
In the Assault, we seldom brook the Field.  
But fly like Hares, or else like Cowards yield.  
Yet this the World esteems an hard estate,  
And Us, who feel it, count unfortunate.  
Show then, Philosophy! the state wherein  
Such Safety, and so much content is s●en.  
Wherein less rugged or steep hindrance lies,  
T'obstruct the Path unto Perfection's prize,  
The useful Rod's only bound up for this,  
To whip and lash the Childish on to Bliss;  
Who sullenly refuse the Rod to kiss,  
And so the Blessing in the Whipping miss.  
Some, like the Whale, only designed to play  
In fruitless pleasures, drive the flying day;  
As Boys with Clackers drive the Lent away.  
Whilst here, we stop the hours of time, that flies,  
With Contemplation's nobler Exercise.  
Maugre all Goals, think we e'er long must die,  
And then enjoy an endless Liberty;  
Death will redeem from long Captivity.  
Man's Life's a Piece spun of a various Thread;  
In some 'tis sine, in some a courser Web.  
The Threads across, th'Occurrences of Fate,  
Cut early from the Loom by Death, or late.  
The Dread of Kings, Death, does not us dismay;  
To Die's less than be Tantalised each day.  
What Man complains, with Weariness oppressed,  
That Night is come, the only Time to Rest?    

The last Speech of Sr. Edmundbury Godfrey's Ghost.  

LOok up? Base Croaking zealots of the Age  
Before your Frenzy Wits, fall into rage;  
Look here? Who Vindicates the Royal Stage.  
Godfrey's brave Spirit, doth this day appear,  
Tremble ye now for Anger, or for Fear.  
His shorthy Ghost, that courted Sacred good,  
Has past the dangers, of the Stygian Flood;  
Left the Elysian Shades, by strict commands,  
To see once more how this poor Country stands.  
But to our shame his grieved Soul doth find,  
(Lunatic Zeal) with us hath been too kind,  
And struck his Loving Fellow Subjects Blind.  
He fears our Disobedience to a Prince,  
Whom Heaven protected, (he can the World convince,)  
From Zealous rage; and Traitors hands long since.  
He sees & fears that in-bread Wars are coming  
By Zealous Prayer created, Preached by cunning,  
Holy longwinded, Fervent, Pious men,  
Who seem as innocent as the pretty Wren;  
But if well tried, we easily may sinned,  
They unto none, but themselves are kind;  
Envy all happiness, but what's their own,  
Have humble outsides, inwardly o'ergrown  
With Pride, Ambition, and Self-interest;  
Longing with Crowns themselves for to invest.  
For what is Monarchy, to them that say,  
They are all Monarches, that zealously can pray?  
He sees foul threaten, and intestine Thunder,  
The Plagues of eating Swords, Domestic Plunder.  
Foretells the Father's striking of his Sons,  
Who without mercy, on the old Sire runs;  
Sees the Sons base Revenge upon the Father,  
Who never leave, till all lie dead together;  
Friend killing Friend, a Brother fights a Brother,  
And spares his own blood less than any other.  
Awake, awake, I say awake betimes,  
Before your Souls feed on such Hellish crimes;  
Let your own reason clear your blinded eyes,  
Let sad experience, banish such Tragedies;  
And as you older are, still grow more wise.  
Beware those Monsters, that have taught your Zeals,  
First to Dethrone your Prince (whom God heals,  
Then brings Destruction, to your Public Weals  
For doubtless such base Principles as these,  
Cannot, but must the Heavenly Power Displease  
Godfrey's fore griv'd-Ghost, weeps Bloody Tears,  
Seeing you drawn into Jealousies and Fears,  
To act those things, which murdering sorrow bears  
Is it so long since, that you have forgot,  
Can you so soon wash out that Royal Spot,  
Of Sacred Innocent Blood, bring back to mind,  
Murdering the Sire, then to the Son be kind,  
And say again your Zeal had made you blind.  
Let no Religious Cloak your Bodies cover,  
And under That Both Prince and Country Smother.  
To make yourselves more hateful, & less good  
Than Lucifer and his Rebellious Brood.  
But striving (with this Difference in the thing,)  
They 'gain their Heavenly—  
But you, both 'gainst your Heaven & Earthly King.  
Nav e'en a King so good, so sweet, so great,  
Makes all your joys and Happiness Complete:  
Them only are excepted, that you see  
Fain would be Monarch's, Kings as well as Herald  
Let not your Loving Godfrey longer weep,  
But let his weary Ghost retire to sleep;  
Who never can have rest, unless he find,  
Your Souls more Loyal, to your Prince more kind;  
Endeavouring still to imitate those Quires,  
That with their Harps, and Hearts, and Sacred Lyres  
Sing to their Heavenly King, who can alone,  
Set whom he pleases on an Earthly Throne.    

Advice to the Painter's Adviser.  

WE Dogs and Lions by their Voices know,  
For by their Notes themselves all Creatures show;  
Yet here's a Thing I know not what to call,  
He roars and Barks; what's Good he curses all.  
No Monster that e'er yet from afric came,  
But what would start at thy prodigious Fame;  
Yet we thy Name nor Pedigree can tell,  
Thou darest Blaspheme beyond the Mouths of Hell.  
What shall I call thee, Monster or base ●iend,  
That canst daub Paper to so base an end?  
Unmouth that Tongue, maugre its double Pale,  
(Fit Instrument to tell the Devil's Tale)  
Which dared blaspheme that Sacred Majesty,  
The voice of Angels joyed to Deisie.  
Foul Traitor, to bespatter such a King  
With th' Aspish Poison of thy slandering,  
Whose every Action (if the Truth we scan,)  
Speaks as much God, as his Foes find him Man?  
A Prince so tender of his Subjects Good,  
As would redeem the meanest with his Blood;  
Heavens Joy, Earth's Pride; when After-age shall tell  
His Worth and Parts, 'twill want a Parellel.  
Let Greece and Rome their Hero's Punies call,  
Our Charles the Great, I'm sure outdoes them all.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉, thy sharp Arrow, bitter word,  
〈◊〉 more than Europe's many edged Sword.  
●● Heavens look to it, he that attempts so high  
●● Vice-God Charles, threats Gignatomachy.  
So he that stabbed famed MIllain's Duke of yore,  
By Practice at his Picture did no more.  
●ut (Oh! the Devil) see the Serpent flies  
To his first course, he doubles his Advice  
To a poor Painter, to draw This and That,  
And draws himself into the Lord knows what.  
Even so those Brats of sin we blush to own,  
We bring to others doors, and lay them down,  
But (pox upon his Picture,) to be short,  
The wary White could have no colour for't;  
Else Hell had paid the Wages of th' abuse,  
His Quidlibet audiendi's no excuse.  
King's failings (if they are any) ought not lie  
An open Prospect for the Vulgar Eye.  
He that drew Alexander's scarry Face,  
Discreetly put his Finger on the place:  
But where's the Artist that can frame a Line,  
To Shadow or Eclipse the Glorious Shrine  
Of Charles' Ray; what Eagle-Eye can gaze  
On so much Sun, or sully such a Blaze.  
Illustrious i'th' Abstract, whose each Glance  
Would strike Presumption out of Countenance;  
Much less can any draw his Treasured Mind,  
To every Noble Virtuous Mood inclined;  
Unblemished as the Saints, the Sun less clear  
In that first Shine which Summered all the Year:  
Our Painters well knew this, who  read o'er  
A Face more puzzling Art, a mind much more.  
Then, Devil do thy worst, with thy Advice,  
Charles and his Court are 'bove thy Calumnies.  
Powers and Dignities approach the Skies,  
Like Ships the more the Waves do under rise.  
But 'tis not each God's Fate alone, else why  
Do Miscreants slight the Angel's Ministry?  
Ours is but little lower, one remove,  
Vicegerent to the King of Kings above.  
The best are still the most maligned with wrong,  
Virtue's no fence against a spiteful Tongue;  
He is the Object of his Profanation.   

Tho' pure as new fallen Snow, free from offence,  
As blameless Truth, and white as Innocence.  
His breath blasts those, whose breath persuming Air,  
Makes all (save that) as sweet as they are fair,  
Unbittered bitterness itself of all,  
Earth's Heavenly few, the most Angelical,  
But Vice be damned, thou art like one of those,  
Who giddied in a Ship at Sea, suppose  
The Continent doth move as well as they,  
All tread awry to those whose Feet are splay▪  
If (though our thoughts are free) we must not think  
Ill of the King; he that shall black his Ink,  
And pale his Paper with words, startles more,  
Than, Lord, have mercy, chalked upon the door.  
To traduce Princes in the shapes of sin,  
Wise Painters choose to draw the Devil in;  
These are the marks o'th' Beasts, who casts an eye  
On those (as on a Basilisk) must die.  
The Mecha Pilgrims at their Prophet's Tomb,  
Need nothing else to make them blind or dumb.  
Here now my muse would sit as Judge at last,  
And Sentence pass on every Sentence past;  
But he's not woth the while, Avaunt, be gone;  
Yet first attend thy Benediction.  
Thou that dar'st own, and dost desire no Name,  
But what is Registered to endless shame,  
Live long in all the Plagues this World affords;  
And if thou wilt repent and eat thy words  
To choke thee; or, to give the Devil's due,  
The Hangman draw thee, and thy Painter too.    

The Hypocritical Christian; or the Conventicle Citizen.  

WEll! for a careful foresight, sober wit,  
Give me a Godly, zealous, Whiggish Cit  
He twice a Week to Week walks,  
Where bawling, canting Preacher Nonsense talks  
He (squeamish Fool) for Orthodox Divine  
N●re cares; because he cannot Sob, and Whine  
He likes a Tubster with his down cast Face,  
His Comic Postures, and his damned Grimace.  
But hates the Reverend Clergy of the Town,  
Disdains with Pride a Pulpiteer in Gown.  
And every Parson Dr. Crape he'll call;  
Like Lad of la●e at Merchant-Taylors-Hall.  
Whose sneaking looks his Principles betrayed.  
It was a sly, starved Whig in Masquerade,  
A stingy perjured, faithless Renegade.  
The Godly Puppet came (he said) to see,  
And know the Humour of the Company.  
But the gluttonous Ass he was so nasty,  
Hewed down the Walls of the Ven'son-Pasty.  
To come to's Roast; Alas! the Tarts and Pies,  
To's Estrich-stomack fell a Sacrifice.  
His Appetite was keen for all's pretences,  
He pleased his Eye, and surfeited his Senses.  
Then all the generous Guests traduces,  
With slurring, dirty, pitiful abuses.  
Because they drank a Loyal Health or two,  
He calls them Popish, Torish drunken Crew.  
A parcel of mean sordid Lads there were,  
Who he was certain near eat Buck before.  
For such abuses let the Lad beware,  
And so let pimping, Whiggish Harry Care.  
who's Tugging daily to Promote the Cause,  
To Thwart all Justice, and make null the Laws.  
One Ignoramus-man (says he) at least,  
Is able to purchase all that were at Feast.  
All their Estates in equal Balance laid,  
By one Whig-Jury-man's would be outweighed.  
Faith! Harry's very generous; he prates  
As though he really knew all men's Estates.  
Poor Mr. Christian's dead, and the Duke's Grace,  
May give to Harry his old Steward's place.  
For he's a Godly, Honest Man, and true,  
And does deserve his place, and Pill'ry too.  
His too hot Zeal for Teckley Reformation,  
In broaching Falsehoods, t'embroil the Nation;  
The greatest Truths that published can be,  
By Hodge; are Story's and damned Ribaldry,  
If it with his and Gotham's disagree,  
The Duke's young Daughter could not live 'twas said  
'Twas so infirm a Child, and since 'tis dead.  
The Serenading Crew, for all their squeaking,  
Were Thiefs, and did intent House-breaking.  
Contrived with's Grace, a black and dismal War,  
To batter him with Fiddles and Guittar,  
The Instrument of Death, a small Rechorder,  
And Fiddle Stick, and Pipe to do the Murder.  
The Chichester Informer took a Pot,  
Too much of Brandy; and his Brains were hot.  
Broke Windows was a swearing drunken Sot.  
HE had wild Freaks, ungovernable Passions,  
and died (like Bishop's Horse) of the Fashions.   

The fine Prelatic Jade will sure be Sainted,  
Yes, yes: If Baxter's Book of Saints reprinted.  
Then Curtis, Care with mighty Polander,  
Shall have their Names in Whiggish Calendar.  
And all who carry on the work o'th' Laird.  
Shall have a good and bountiful Reward.   

In this large Catalogue of Fools and Knaves,  
Come Leaden Constables with wooden Staves.  
With Solemn Oaths they gravely can dispense,  
They have a swinging well stretched Conscience.  
Who take up th' Office out of mighty Zeal,  
To support their Brethren o'th' Common-weal.  
They to th' Brotherhood send holy Greetings,  
Acquaint them how they'll come t' molest th' Meetings.  
Then hay! the Godly Flock's dispersed & gone.  
And all (like young Fledged Birds) are quickly Flown.  
The Preacher then with's Congregation,  
Give thanks for this great Preservation;  
And Orders that th' Thanks of the House be sent  
To Godly Constable ●or's good intent.   

O! what will not Men do, if this they dare,  
To Affront Justice? and themselves Forswear  
To Oblige a few, and such a Faction please,  
Who in this Government were ne'er at ease.  
Thus Officer, (though gravely Sworn) Collogues,  
Calls Hilton Fool, and all th' Informers Rogues.  
Though he hath Warrants with him, that's all one,  
In spite of Laws, he Executeth none.  
'Tis strange, such Meetings cannot silenced be,  
Where Preacher bawls so much for Liberty,  
And boldly talks of Subject's Property.   

Oh! Horrid Insolence! can Justice sleep?  
Not see such Vermin into Corners creep?  
Seduce poor Women, and on Cit impose,  
Draw him through Bogs of Error by the Nose.  
Tell him of Plots, and great Designs, forsooth  
All which the Credulous Cit sucks in for Truth:  
That several Jesuits were up and down,  
In close Cabals, for to enslave the Town.   

It was not long ago at Lor'mers' Hall,  
That Youngsters did for Magna Charta Bawl.  
And (like Hugh Peter) with new strange Alarms  
Bid 'em beware, stand stiffly to their Arms;  
To quit themselves like Men, be Strong & Stout,  
Secure their Persons, and the Tories Rout,  
What! lose the Privilege of Choosing Shrieve's,  
Why North and Richardo will prove two deadly Thiefs.  
They'll rob you of your Jury's here at home,  
And make you fall sad Victims unto Rome.   

Then still oppose the Polls of Sir John More,  
He hugs that Witch, the Babylonish Whore,  
Will ne'er your Native Liberty's restore.  
Be ready too, your Charter to secure,  
Who those damned Quowarranto's can't endure?  
You see that Oxford stoutly doth Defy  
Such Writs; and will protect their Liberty.  
ne'er trust their Charter in the Hands of King's,  
Who'd bauk their Privil'dge, & clip their Wings.  
Then stand it out Boys still, and still be Famous,  
(Like Oxford Townsmen) for old Ignoramus.  
But I'm informed of late that Whiggish Town  
Is Altered strangely; and is Loyal grown,  
An Impudent Resistance does disown.  
The Charter they'll Resign for all the bawling,  
Of Foolish Wright, and selfconceited Pawling.  
To oppose the Loyalists the Whigs don't dare,  
The Youngsters laugh at dull Machine the Mayor  
Thus Honesty, I hope, in vogue may be,  
And Cit may find his long lost Loyalty,  
And bawl no more for Bugbear Property.  
May names of Parties and Distinctions cease,  
May Faction fall, and Loyalty increase,  
To Establish here an Universal Peace.  
May Cit to Church devoutly go and Pray,  
And ne'er despise a Godly-Homily.  
ne'er Meet thus in Unhallowed Barns and Sties,  
And blindly Offer their Fool's Sacrifice.  
Leave Cit, those Synagogues, and do Conform,  
Into the Church's Breast at last Return.  
Cast off (for shame) the Factious Crew; you know  
How they Profanely impudent do grow.  
An Amorous Brother late so kind and tender,  
Did there with Sister Publicly Engender.  
The Preacher saw the Godly Act of Grace,  
Saw the Lewd Couple Zealously Embrace.  
He nodded, Frowned, and gravely did Reprove,  
Their wicked Satyr's way, of Bruital Love.  
Hence forth he'll have a Smarter Rod in Pickle,  
For such Debaucher's of's dear Conventicle.  
From such Vile Cells as from Contagion flee,  
Such Deeds were ne'er seen in Monast'ry.  
Believe it (to th' Eternal shame of Meetings)  
Nor in our Churches are such Carnal Greetings.   

Then prithee disaffected Cit Comply  
With Law; and thou'lt enjoy thy Liberty.  
Securely live beneath thy Vine at ease,  
Thy Credit and thy Fortune will increase.  
Be Loyal, and defend the Kings Just Right,  
ne'er read a Factious Pamphlet with delight.  
ne'er feed on Horseflesh; nor read vain Discourses  
'Twixt Charing-Cross & your Wool-Church-Horses  
ne'er have a Vicious thought 'gainst Majesty,  
But let all Treason-Talkers silenced be,  
Those Vermin that do girn at Monarchy.  
Oppose their barking; and let the World know  
You can be honest, if you would be so.  
The Comet that appeared did sure portend,  
That all your Factions here will have an end,  
And Zealous Conventiclers will then amend.    

On the KING'S most Happy and Miraculous Deliverance at Newmarket.  

SO Weapons prosper which are formed 'gainst Heaven,  
Or it is Vicegerent Heavens peculiar Care,  
To whom are more than Vulgar Blessings given,  
And fire has saved whom men more Cruel would not spare.  
Some greater Genius him defends,  
By mighty means for mighty ends,  
And makes his Foes his Footstool be,  
Or (what his Goodness more Delights to see)  
Makes them his Friends:   

II.  
Nor do we more Congratulate,  
The present safety of the State,  
Then future Peace which we anticipate.  
Now Treasonous Arts are so Exposed to view,  
The Plots as soon as hatched are blasted too.  
Popery's coming in they well might cry,  
Whose Methods would fulfil the Prophecy.  
Nor did they cheat the World who took such Pain  
The Jealousies they raised should not be vain.  
First Arbitrary Power must down,  
(Meaning the Crown.)  
Then must some Minister be in Disgrace,  
Because a Rebel wants his place.  
More Liberty the People crave,  
Yet know not how to use that which they have.  
Next that men's Properties secured must be,  
They'd made the King a Property,  
What monstrous Blessings would a Change create  
Might Atheists mend the Church, and Knaves the State.  
But shall we twice be gulled by one pretence?  
With our Allegiance have we lost our Sense?  
These very Tricks ruin'd us once before,  
Curse of such Arts which now are Arts no more  
All that is envied still attend the Throne,  
And him that sits Thereon.  
But when these Earthly Gods shall die like Men.  
Let only Nature then  
(Nature the Rule of him by whom King's Reign)  
Appoint who next shall grace & truth Maintain.  
Many Names of Matchless Heroes of this Race,  
Distinguish happy times, till time itself shall cease    

A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Duchess of ORMOND.  

Qua nihil majus, meliusve Terris  
Fata donavere, bonique Divi,  
Nec dabunt: Quamvis redeant in Aurum Tempora priscum. Horat.   MYRTILLO. ALEXIS. MYRTILLO. 

IF loaded Eyelids, and a clouded Brow,  
Crossed Arms and rising Sighs, great Sorrow show;  
And if one Friend may know another's care,  
Why these sad Marks does my Alexis wear?   ALEXIS. 

Alas, Myrtillo! cast thy eyes around,  
And tell me, what like comfort's to be found?  
The Sun has not sent forth one cheerful Ray,  
But worn a Cloud of Mourning all the day.  
See how our drooping Flocks no Pastures heed,  
But bleat about us, and neglect to feed!  
Let Nature look in all her Orders sad;  
Nor Envy dare to show it, if she's glad;  
Since nothing, nothing now can Joy restore,  
For Fate has struck, and Pyrrha is no more.   MYRTILLO. 

Pyrrha! for whom our daily vows we paid,  
And best-loved Younglings on the Altar laid;  
For whose long , Life, and happy State,  
All grateful Prayers on the good Gods did wait;  
Whose Virtue Nymphs were taught to copy young,  
For 'twas the Theme of every Shepherd's Song:  
Has Fate at last prevailed! And is SHE gone!  
O whither now shall many wretched run!  
The Injured, for Redress; the Poor for Aid;  
Worth, for Reward; or Grief, to be allayed:  
Since Justice, Pity, Bounty quits our Plains;  
But Sorrow grows Eternal, and remains.   ALEXIS. 

As full blown Flowers, that long have decked the ground,  
And with their Odours filled the Air 〈◊〉,  
bend down their heads at last to Mother Earth,  
And fade away, though to a second 〈◊〉;  
Or as tall Cedars, who (admired) have stood  
For many years the Glory of the W●●●,  
●inding in time their sacred Roots decay,  
Are by the next rude tempest torn away,  
So flourished Py●rha, and as high did rise,  
Adorned the Forth, and seemed to reach the Skies.  
Fair, without blemish; Lofty, without Pride:  
But, Oh! the Tempest risen, and Pyrrha died!  
Gone then's all Spring, now Winter's only ours;  
Sighs rise like Storms, and Tears must fall like Showers.   MYRTILLO 

If full of Years and Honours Pyrrha fell,  
Grief may with Swains of humbler Talents dwell  
While to a nobler work our minds we raise,  
Suspend our Sorrows, and Proclaim Her Praise.   ALEXIS. 

As round Heaven's Throne whole Choirs of Angels throng  
Yet all their Triumphs one Eternal Song:  
So here on Earth should Pyrrah's Praises last,  
Till Time's not more, and Nature's works lie waste.   MYRTILLO. 

Ten let us tune our Reeds; Thou first the Lay  
Begin; Our Flocks shall listen, and I'll play:  
So up to Pyrrha's Fame our Notes we'll raise,  
Suspend our Sorrows, and proclaim her Praise.   ALEXIS. 

Mean time, ye boundless Winds, your Gusts forbear,  
And all ye Hills and Valleys round give ear:  
Keep back ye Rivers, and forbear to run,  
Till the great Tale of Pyrrha's ●ame be done:  
Then let each wind bear it where-ever it blows,  
Catch it, ye Hills and Valleys, as it goes,  
With your assenting Echoes in the close.  
Murmur it, Floods, as to your Seas ye creep,  
And with It add new Wonders to the Deep;  
For the Renown of Pyrrha's Name shall last  
Till Time's not more, and Nature's Works lie waste.   MYRTILLO. 
On then.  ALEXIS. 

— As Stars before the rising day  
Seem in their Orbs to sink, and dive away;  
So all the Nymphs upon our sertile Plains,  
Though proud and cruel to their sighing Swains,  
When Pyrrha's powerful Charms approached, they failed,  
And any satire might have then prevailed:  
So much in blooming Youth could she surprise,  
she'd all the panting Hearts and wishing Eyes.  
Come then, ye Nymphs of Arcadia, draw near,  
Weep round her Earth, and all your Garlands tear;  
For Pyrrha's Beauty once not Equal knew;  
But Fate has seized Her now, and must have You.   MYRTILLO. 

Pyrrha's bright Eyes enlightened every Grove,  
And fir'd at last Al●anders Hear● with Love;  
The Nymph found Him a Triumph worth Her Charms,  
And She alone was sit to fill His Arms,  
Many did either Conquest wish t'ha● made,  
But only They each other could 〈◊〉;  
For in her Form did Nature seem improved,  
And He was framed to Love, and be Beloved:  
Therefore Heaven smiled, and all the Stars looked kind,  
When Pyrrha & Alcander's Hearts were joined.   ALEXIS. 

Who has not heard of great Alcander's Name,  
So long the Muse's Task, and Pride of Fame?  
Pan ●arly chose, and made him great in Power,  
When the Wolves raged, and did our Flocks devou●  
He took the guard of the molested Plains;  
Saw our Lambs ●●d, & cheered Us srighted Swains;  
Waked with us midst dark Nights and pinching Colds,  
To drive the howling Monsters from our Folds:  
In all which time, Pyrrha, His charming Bride  
Oft came, and watched as He did, by His side;  
Of his worst dangers still her part would bear,  
And for all Joys She gave him, asked but care.  
Now, ye poor Flocks, go bleat about, and stray;  
Ye Shepherds, cast your Scrips and Hooks away;  
Stretched on the ground, your Fatal loss bemoan,  
And call on Pyrrha's Name at every groan.   MYRTILLO. 

Full fifty happy years this matchless Pair  
Lived in unshaken Love; No Jealous care,  
Or mean Distrust, did once their Joys molest,  
So in a Noble Offspring were They blest,  
Of Warlike Youths, worthy their Father's Name,  
And Daughters, spotless as their Mother's Fame:  
Bold Celadon, the Darling of loud War,  
And Strephon now, whose pious shoulders bear  
The burden of his aged Father's care;  
Young Damon, lovely as the Beams that play  
About our East, and lead the coming Day;  
Fair Phyllida, who was with Aegon wed,  
And blest Him with a Faithful Fruitful Bed;  
Generous Lysca too, by Nature taught  
To recommend the poor man's cause unsought.   ALEXIS. 

All these the Off spring were of Pyrrha's Womb:  
Come then, ye Mothers, mourn around Her Tomb:  
In Pyrrha's Name your Mystic Rites perform,  
When to your Aid ye would Lucina charm,  
Either the labouring Matrons pangs to ease,  
Or bless the Barren Mourner with increase.   MYRTILLO. 

Oh! kind Alexis, still pursue thy Song,  
How these fair Branches grew, or withered young   ALEXIS. 

Brave Celadon through ●ate untimely failed,  
And was by Pan and all his Train bewailed;  
Some mourning Muses sung Him to his Tomb,  
Yet others felt more grief, and thence were dumb.  
Young Damon faded in His Beauty's Pride,  
And Phyllida no less lamented died.  
But long may Strephon's Life rejoice the years  
Of good Alcander, and assist His Cares.  
Fullness of time, kind Heaven, to Lysea give,  
'Tis for your Honour, Gods, that she should live;  
For She, the more of days you Her afford,  
By Her good Deeds will make You more adored;  
Since Lysea was of pious Pyrrha born,  
And Pyrrha's Virtues Lysca's Heart adorn.   
MYRTILLO.  
Put what shall now give good Alcander joy?  
ALEXIS.  

The Gods, when Fate took Celadon away,  
Called Daphnis forth, th' Heroic Race to run,  
Which his great Parent had so well begun:  
From Celadon's brave Loins young Daphnis came,  
●ull of His Heat, and conscious of His Fame;  
Whose Mind his Father's Deeds did so employ,  
He grew Alcander's Hopes, and Pyrrha's Joy.  
P●r● ha' loved Daphnis, and with pleasure found  
The Hero's Virtues in the Youth abound.  
When Daphnis languished, Pyrrha did provide  
The charming soft Aminta for His Bride:  
Amin●a! tender as the Lambs that play  
In Sunny morns, and Innocent as They;  
Sweet as those ●v●ning Airs that gently blow  
Where the rich fragrant Eastern Spices grow;  
Calm as our Groves in a fair Summer's night,  
And lovely as the first-created Light.  
Daphn●● w●s born, Amintas with him joined,  
To chase all sorrows from Alcander's mind;  
To add new Honours to His store of ●ame,  
And a long Race of Heroes to His Name:  
〈◊〉 ●●me, which shall, with Pyrrha's Praises, last  
〈◊〉 Time▪ ● no more, and Nature's Works lie waste.    

Funeral Tears to the Sacred Memory of our late Sovereign King CHARLES the Second.  

THe Noonday Star, that once outfaced the Sun,  
Charles his bright Phosphor, has its period ●un:  
And resting Charles, with more six'd Glories crowned,  
Has past his mighty finished Circle roun●.  
All th' untired race of Prodigies, the late  
Continued shame of this Stupendious sat,  
Which once his Restoration Laurels bore;  
Those never-sleeping Pores, now move no more.  
Myriad of Guardian Angels all disband;  
And Wonders wait no more on his Right Hand.  
Whilst Truth invincible, unbyast Right,  
Goodness unbounded, Mercy Infinite;  
Honour Unsullied; All the brightest Train  
Of Ministering Graces t' his Illustrious Reign,  
Their Royal Robes to Funeral Sables turn  
All Mourners o'er their Sacred Master's Urn:  
But'midst the Tears our streaming Sorrows pour  
Three Wailing Kingdoms in one Loyal Show●  
How feebly does our Voice of Mourning sound,  
Whilst Royal Eyes in deeper Griefs lie drowned  
No Heart like James with killing Loads o'er pressed  
Kindest of Brothers and of Friends the best.  
So sad the pangs of parting Friendship prove,  
Immoderate Chief, and ever burning Love  
R●●d His Great Soul, and their keen passage source.  
Methinks I see Him at the Dire Divorce;  
Whilst the Gr●●● James like Great Telesia stands,  
With 〈◊〉 Cries, and with up-lifted Hands,  
With rended Garments, and a flowing Show●  
Of bit▪ rest Tears deplores the dismal Hour.  
Till from above behold the grining Sky;  
The Fiery Steeds, and Flaming Chariot fly.  
Th' Ascending Saint, 'midst shouting Angels round,  
With purer Joys, & brighter Diadems Crowned.  
Here with sad Ties he took His last Farewell.  
And grasped the Wondrous Mantle as it fell.  
With Prime Transmigrating Glories fir'd,  
Filled with the Mounting God, with the whole Charles inspired.   

O Mighty Charles, what have not only We  
Three Kingdoms but even Empire lost in Thee?  
Founder of Monarchy, for Thou alone  
stoodst the unshaken Bulwark of the Throne.  
When the old Storm yawned for th' Imperial wrack,  
Th● Hand ●●one beat the sierce Torrent back:  
●●ction & 〈◊〉 by Thy strong Arm o'erthrown  
Whil●●● 〈◊〉 World was Thy great work alone.  
Glory and Peace but in Thy Sunbeams play,  
Whilst thou'rt the God of our long Halcyon day.  
The Old Fanatic Fiend, so late before  
Drunk with a Martyred Monarches Purple Gore.  
Whilst with th' Old Poison, and th' Old Rage he stood.  
All Thirsting for new Draughts of Royal Blood,  
The Crowns long Foe, and Blackest Imp of Hell,  
His Sting just Fastening, Thou alone couldst quell.  
Thy Book of Fame with this last Glory filled:  
What shall Great James on thy Foundations build?  
Strike Royal Heir, th' half Conquered Serpent dead,  
Charles bruised his Teeth, and Thou shalt crush his Head.   

Peace, Union, Concord, all so well begun;  
Tho' Thou, Great Charles, thy Race like Moses run;  
Thy People led by Thy Miraculous Hand  
To th' Milk and Honey of a Blessed Land;  
Called hence too soon by the Almighty Voice:  
Saw'st but the Borders of the Promised Joys:  
That Godlike Joshua sills Thy Royal Seat,  
Who Thy unfinished Wonders shall complete.   

Translated Saint, now thy ●ull Honours seize  
Blest with thy own Eternal Handmaid, Peace  
Around thy Head Immortal Honour's play,  
Brighter thy own Restoration Day,  
Like thy own Mercy soft be thy Repose;  
Whilst on thy Brow that Perfumed Fragrance flows,  
Sweeter than the Odours even of that Rich Fame  
That shall Embalm Thy Everlasting Name.    

SCOTLAND'S Loyalty; or, Sorrowful Sighs on the Death of our late Sovereign His Sacred Majesty; CHARLES by the Grace of God King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, etc.  

LEt Music cease; yet let true Subjects Sing  
Sad Ela's Note (in Sorrow) for our King;  
Whom (to the worth) no Poet can bemoan,  
Though all the Seas were turned to Helicon.  
But there's no need our Sorrow to Infuse,  
Or strain Eulogiums from a Mournful Muse  
In 〈◊〉 Hearts; the cause of our sad Grief  
〈◊〉 ●loods of Tears▪ though in the end Relief.  
Great Charles is Dead, who was Great Britain's King,  
〈◊〉 ●n Exploits, who Trophies great did bring  
〈…〉 and plenty to His own three Realms;  
●●rough storms of State, which he did turn to Calms.  
Our bypast Prophecies did point Him forth,  
Preceding Kings were Shadows of His worth:  
Then cast up Virtues to one total sum;  
Perfections Product will be found in Him.  
We will Engrave His Name in Marble Pure,  
With Diamond of the Black Rock, to endure  
Till after Ages; that our Children may  
Pay Tears (for Tribute) to His Sacred Clay,  
Can men in Arms our Sorrows stroke assail,  
Or floods of Tears with Cruel Death prevail,  
We'd Muster all our Forces then with speed,  
And Weeping Eyes should overflow the Tweed.  
But sure the King of Kings hath given the stroke,  
And Mortals cannot Destiny revoke.  
We'll kiss the Rod; though we the smart regrate  
Submitting though unto our rigid Fate.  
Yet we'll breathe doleful Sighs to His sad Hearse,  
That's dipped in Tears, and Elegiac Verse;  
T'immortalize Great Charles His Royal Name,  
And be Memento's on the Wings of Fame.   

Then rest dear Saint, though dead yet still alive;  
(Though laid in dust,) Times Age thou shalt survive;  
thou'rt mounted high above the World's renown  
With Kings and Priests, to wear a Cross-less-Crown.  
And (though our Grief cannot our loss prevent)  
Let this sad Verse but give our Passion vent.    

EPITAPH.  

HEre lies Grave, Majestic Dust;  
Which (when alive) was Good and Just:  
Great Charles the second, Britain's King;  
Whose valour makes us Weep and Sing.  
His Crown environed was with Thorn,  
Which makes His Subjects double Mourn▪  
By Land and Sea he did our Work:  
The Fear, and Terror of the Turk.  
He Peace to Europe did restore,  
When other Kings had given it o'er.  
Defender of the Faith, that's true,  
Until he had the World adieu.  
Let Princes Eternize His Name;  
And make his worth their Diadem.   

Now since the Sighs that did Eclipse our Sky,  
By His Successors Light gins to fly,  
O'er Tears we'll Triumph; since our sore doth bring  
The surest Salve, which is a Lawful King.  
We'll p●● Allegiance due on Charles his score,  
To JAMES the VII. and many Millions more.   
P. K.   

An Elegy on the Deplorable, and never enough to be Lamented Death of the Illustrious, and Serene CHARLES the Second. KING of Great-Britain, France and Ireland, etc. Who departed this Life February the 6th. 1685.  

Hung all the Streets with Sable Sad; and call  
The Royal Palace, Black and not White-Hall:  
Weep Sacred Beads of Loyal Tears, and true,  
Of Orient Pearl; but Occidental Hue:  
Since Britain's Phoebus hath forsaken the Stage,  
Before he reached the Tropic of his Age.  
The interval betwixt our Setting Sun,  
And Rising Sovereign, 'ere his Light begun  
Was short; yet (till our Sorrow sung Relief)  
We were near deluged in the Seas of Grief.  
Yet (tho' our Sovereign doth our Mourning 'swage,  
And gives our joy of Grief the Weather-gage.  
We'll make no Bonesires, for (it were in vain)  
Our flowing Eyes would Weep them out again.  
All Israel when good Hezekiah died,  
To his last B●●ath, true ●●oyal Honour paid;  
Where's then the Boldest Critic ●n deny  
〈…〉 CHARLES his worth a D●leful EL●GY:  
〈◊〉 Worth, to Times last ●riod shall Endure,  
In 〈◊〉 of Envy, o● the Grave, Secure.  
And Children yet 〈◊〉 with Tears shall pay  
A 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 use ●o his sacred Clay.  
He from His Childhood was of great Renown;  
He bore his Cross before he wore his Crown.  
Branched in the stock of Trouble ('tis well known)  
His Fruit was Ripe, the Blossom yet unblown.  
Great Britain's Bane, and Blush Eclipsed his Sky,  
E'er- England knew his Sovereignty:  
But as his Sun ascended the Noonday,  
A● Clouds like Vapours) vanished quite away:  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●right Calms of Peace did still remain  
●●●ough the whole Circle of his Halcyon Reign.   

Then Rest (dear Saint) tho' now Entombed in Dust)  
Un●il the Resurrection of the Just.  
And let our Mourners mitigate their Grief,  
Because our Sorrow doth admit Relief:  
The Veil of Death no Christian needs dismay;  
The King of Kings Himself did guide the Way.   

And (since our Sore a Salve along doth bring)  
God save Great JAMES, our Second Sovereign King.  
Let his D●minions preface Black and White;  
Since Rising Phoebus dissipates our Night:  
Let Loyal Subjects all both cry and Sing  
Like Bird● Reviv▪ d in the returning Spring.  
Let Court and City raise their joyful Voice  
And Loyal Sighs still Echo back, Rejoice:  
Till Plotters all Conspiracies lay by,  
And Treason turn to purest Loyalty.   

Hence th●n projecting Traitors, stand aloof;  
His Loyal Throne is sure, and Treason-Proof:  
Lest sit on Ed●e by old Seditious Sm●●—  
Your Treason's Trapturn round upon your Neck.  
His Presence may no 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Resort,  
Nor base 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 his Court;  
But Reign in Peace, whilst we have in our Eye  
CHARLES still live in JAMES' Royalty,  
But since he's Dead and gone, let this sad Verse  
(Tho' undeserving) yet attend his Hearse.    

EPITAPH.  

HEre lies Great Charles the Just the Good,  
As ever came of Royal Blo●d:  
To Troubles Born, he Early knew  
What Kings (as Men) are subject to:  
His Morning Gl●ries were ●'recast,  
And by some Fatal Star Oppressed.  
But as his Sun ascended Noon,  
The cruel Comet did fall Down,  
In Peace he Lived, in Peace he Died;  
The Kingdom and the Church's Gui●e,  
The Guardian of the swelling Main;  
The Terror of the DUTCH and DANE.  
At his Command all war did Cease,  
And Europe Owes to him her Peace.  
Diseases at his Power did Crouch,  
And own the Virtue of his Touch.  
Let KINGS and PRINCES in him Glory,  
And make his Reign their Directory.    

To His Sacred Majesty King JAMES II.  

ALL Hail Great Prince! whom ●●'●y Miracle  
Preserved for Universal Ru●●;  
When Time Your Wondrous Story shall unsold,  
Your Glorious Deeds in Arms, when ●●● but Young;  
Your strange ●scapes, and Dangers shall be told,  
Your Battles F●●gh●▪ Your Guilder 〈◊〉 is ●●●,  
When yet the Elder Generals (not in Fame)  
Your Perils darest no● share,  
Alone the raging Torrent You would stem,  
And bear before You the fierce Tide of War.  
How Spain Records Your Glorious Name;  
And how when Danger called, for Britain's good,  
You paid the lavish Ransom of Your Blood.  
When the Ingrates shall Blushing read,  
How far great Souls the Vulgar can exceed  
In Patience, Suffering, and Humility,  
Your Condescension, and Your Banishment,  
Then let the Obstinate (convinced) agree:  
You only were preserved, and fit, for Sacred Government.  
Come listen all, whom needless fears possess,  
And hear how Heaven confirms Your Happiness:  
Behold the Sacred Promised Prince,  
Whom wondrous Prophet's Ages since  
Told, When the Mystic figures of the Year,  
To such a Number should Amount,  
(As fill this Lucky Years Account)  
O'er England there should Reign a Star  
Of that Divine and Gracious Influence,  
Should make proud Neighbouring Nations fear:  
And Mightier Britain's happy Genius prove,  
And bless the Land with Plenty, Peace, and Love.  
'Tis YOU oh Sacred Sir, for Empire Born,  
Shall make the great Prediction true,  
And this last Miracle perform,  
To make Us Blest, and make Us own it too.  
Oh may Your ●uster with Your Li●e renew!  
●ong may You Shine, and spread Your Beams as far,  
As from the Morning to ●he E●●ning Star;  
Till Your Convincing Rays, Your Foes o'er come.  
And for Your Glorious Magnitude the scanted Globe want room.   
FINIS.   

Ireland's Tears. A Pindaric Poem upon the Death of our late Sovereign Charles the Second; and the Peaceful and Happy Succession and Inauguration of our present Great Monarch King James the II.  

I.  
AS distant Thunder in a rolling Cloud,  
First Murmurs inwardly, then Roars aloud  
O'er the amazed listening Crowd:  
Till the Dread Clap scares every Mortal Ear;  
Too weak heavens angry voice to bear:  
Such was the sad astonishing News  
Which February's 6th Ideses did bring;  
The dangerous Sickness of our Dearest King▪  
It stun'd all Ears, and did all Minds amuse;  
All the sad Tidings so bemoan,  
As if it were not His Sickness, but their Own.  
Trembling, and full of Fear we wait  
To know what the next Messenger will say;  
And all the while we Weep, and all the while we Pray.  
When suddenly Death's Herald spoke the Dreadful Fate—  
Alas! the Miserable Day!  
The News too sad to Hear, too Killing to repeat   

II.  
Horror and Cries fill all around:  
Distracted Looks, and Throbbing Hearts,  
As if 'twere the last Trumpets sound,  
In every place are found;  
And hideous Groans do Echo from all parts.  
Frighted with what I saw, and heard;  
But much more with what I seared:  
The blasted City soon I left,  
And as of Reason quite bereft,  
I wildly roamed about to seek some place  
Lesle Doleful than that City was;  
Where without Partners, or Looker's on,  
I might Enjoy my Grief alone:  
And for a little space  
Might lay the weighty burden of my Sorrow down.   

III.  
And long I had not roved about,  
 an approved Retirement I found out;  
Ruins, that to Religion Sacred were of Yore;  
Nor now less Venerable than heretofore:  
Where all things did my Melancholy Fancy please  
Murmuring Waters, awful Cliffs, & withered Trees  
There Cheerful Birds ne'er Sing, nor e'er blows  
Nor any Beast, or Humane Face [gentle breeze  
Was to be seen upon the lonely Place.  
To this Forlorn and Uncouth seat,  
Well suited to my Troubled state,  
I softly with my load of Grief retreat:  
Where each Rock, and every Tree  
Would, (I knew) Condole with me;  
Only stern Fate would un-relenting be.  
Thus then with many a Tear and Groan,  
My Dead Prince I did bemoan.   

iv  
Charles, the Clement, and the Good!  
Charles, the Flower of Princely Blood!  
Of all we Earthly Gods do call,  
Charles, the most Beloved of all!  
Our Heart's Delight, Joy of our Eyes;  
And whom not we alone did prize,  
Through the whole Universe His Glory flies.  
Even Nations Strangers to our Faith and God,  
Herd of His Fame,  
Revered His Name,  
And Eastern Princes Dazzled with His bright Renown,  
Which did so much Eclipse their own,  
Sent their Ambassadors Abroad  
To Court the Favour of this Second Solomon.  
Of Him to learn the Royal Art  
To Govern, and secure the People's Heart:  
While Christendom in every weighty All  
Did to His well-known Justice still Appeal,  
Whose Word and Wisdom ever turned the Scale.   

V  
He that can tell the drops of Rain  
Which on an April day do fall,  
(Or his sad Subjects Tears can count,  
Which to a greater number mount;)  
May reckon up the Graces, but not all,  
(For that Essay would be in vain,)  
Which did adorn his Life and Glorious Reign:  
For who will e'er Attempt to tell  
Things that are unexpressible?  
Great Lord of Wit, Patron of Arts He was,  
Learning's strong Atlas, Poetry's best Friend;  
Crowned with each Ray, and blest with every Grace,  
That could a Prince, or make, or recommend.  
But if in any one He could & did Himself Excel.  
'Twas that of Clemency!  
Herein He was heavens Parallel.  
Nay (be't with Reverence spoke) He Heaven outwent,  
In pardoning the Impenitent—  
Is Heaven itself so Merciful as He?   

VI  
But as Ten Thousand scattered Rays  
By Art are made to Centre in one Glass;  
So all the Tenderness and Love  
Which in His Heart did towards all His Subjects move,  
First on His Royal Brother fell, and through Him did pass▪  
Not fearing loss of Empire, or of Life,  
When Highborn James' Foes were rife,  
When saucy, Factious Senates menaced high▪  
And blushed not to Decry  
The Crown's Just Heir and Truest Friend to Monarchy  
Our King close to His Brother's Interest stood,  
And stemmed the Impetuous Flood.  
To the Damned Project soon He put an end,  
And showed Himself not more a Monarch than a Friend.  
Friendship like This the World did never know,  
Save what the King of Heaven did show,  
Who, for our sakes, descending here below,  
Ceased to be Happy, that we might be so.   

VII.  
How Dear to Heaven its Champion was, our Prince,  
(Who did so well Defend the Crown  
And Faith which He received from thence,  
●till valuing the Public Weal, more than his own)  
Let the long Chain of Miracles convince,  
Which, Maugre all the opposition  
Of Fiends, & Fiendlike Men combined in one;  
Destined him for, and Brought Him to, and kept Him on His Throne.  
Witness that shining Herald, sent  
To tell the World of His Illustrious Birth:  
As if Heaven had hereby meant—  
Another God is Born on Earth!  
At Noon we saw the Newborn Star  
Shine on his Infant Brother here,  
With a Mild Aspect, yet so Bright and Clear  
As did outvie the Midday Sun,  
As far as He Himself all other Kings has done   

VIII.  
And when Rebellion Black and Dire  
Had harassed long His Godlike Sire;  
Whose Life it Barbarously took away,  
Of all things Great and Holy made a Prey,  
And turned three Kingdoms into One Aceldam▪  
Our late (Ah wretched word!) Heav'n-loved King,  
Kind Providence did wondrously convey,  
And sheltered Him beneath its wing,  
From all the Ills which War, and Chance,  
And Treasons blacker than the Night,  
Did'gainst His Sacred Life advance.  
Witness His Happy 'scape from Wor'ster's Bloody▪ Fight:  
Where Hovering Angels with their Mighty  
Saved Him from all the Hazards of that Dread-Shield▪  
And their important Charge, by ways unknown full Field▪  
T' a Neighbouring Friendly shade, conveyed  
Where sturdy Oaks stretched out their Arms  
(Oh shame to Man's Barbarity!)  
To Receive, and shelter Distressed Majesty. on high  
Witness, O Boscobel, thy Monumental Tree!   

IX.  
From thence through Dangers numberless  
In mighty Wants, and deep Distress  
At Home, Abroad, by Land and Seas,  
(As once his High-famed Ancestor, the wandrie Trojan Prince  
By many a wondrous Providence,  
During his Nine Years Exile hence,  
Heaven its Regard of Him did Evidence,  
When the Almighty King to show his care  
Of such as his Vicegerents are;  
When Humane Force could do no more; And when  
Our dying Hopes could ebb no lower;  
Did by a Turn, Miraculous Restore  
Our King to Us, Us to our King again:  
To bringh which Blessed work to pass,  
Neither Man's ●ower, nor Policy had place;  
No Contract made, nor Blows were given;  
But the astonished World saw 'twas  
The stupendious work of Heaven!   

X.  
So Great a Monarch, and so Glorious,  
So much Beloved at Home, & Feared Abroad;  
(Much too Good alas! for Us:  
Wise as an Angel, Generous as a God—  
Though calmly Settled to a Lofty Throne,  
Was not above the reach of Envious Looker's on  
Which made him stand in need of heavens high Patronage;  
(And what he needed, he still had,)  
To Save his Crown and Person from the Rage  
Of Men (with too much Ease) gone Mad.  
Witness those Plots, the Faction's fruitful womb  
So oft Conceived, tho' still in vain,  
Against their Gracious Sovereign:  
(Where sometimes the Discoverer  
Played both the Devil and the Conjurer:)  
Which being by heavens great care Abortive still become,  
They added to the Wonders of his Reign:  
And made his Throne as fixed and Glorious, as his Wain.   

XI.  
When lo! the Prince who seemed Heavns chief Delight,  
Its Darling and Prime Favourite,  
His Midday Glory's all full Blown—  
How strangely are they Blasted, Ah! how soon!  
But what Heaven raised, Heaven only can pull down.  
Down low as Earth, this Son of the most High is come;  
And all his scattered Trophies serve, but to adorn his Tomb.  
But why! no Prodigy at all?  
No Beacon- Comet fired above?  
(No Monstruous Births, no Storms, no Whale,  
Or to Presage, Great King thy Fall,  
Or to attend thy Funeral?)  
Which Nature's fright might show & Mankind's wonder move.  
Why (seeing a wondrous Star proclaimed his Birth,)  
Did not as wondrous an Eclipse foretell his leaving Earth?  
Must Godlike Kings like Puny Mortals die?  
Must Charles the most August—  
Be meanly crumbled like Plebeian Dust?  
Why dealest thou with th' Anointed, O King of  
Princes! why?   

XII.  
But while thus Ravingly I spoke,  
With a strange Horror I was struck,  
Which dimmed my Eyes, loosened my Joints, and chilled my Blood;  
Before me strait a Visionary somewhat stood;  
Whose Form I could not well discern;  
The Genius, likely, of the place,  
Or some such Airy Image 'twas;  
Of Stature high, Clad in Blue mists, Its Visage stern:  
Which with an angry Hollow Tone  
Thus stopped me—  
Shall Mortal wight dare to reprove,  
Or pry into the things above?  
The Prince whose Death you so bemoan,  
Was He not th' Almighty's Loan?  
Who only has took what was his own.  
His Awful Mien, and Heavenly Eyes,  
Which made all Hearts his Votaries;  
His Soul so Soft, yet truly Great,  
His Mind so Clear, and so Sedate,  
Proved well his Extract from the Skies.   

XII.  
With Milder Accent, and Genteeler look,  
The Spirit, (less Frightful now,) thus farther spoke.  
Then if your much-Lamented King  
So Good and Amiable was;  
Why would you have some dreadful thing  
The smoothness of his Reign deface?  
Let Tyrants and Usurpers have  
Sea-Monsters, and Rough Hurricanes  
Foretell their Death, and dig their Graves,  
Such Prodigies suit well their Reigns:  
Comets have still a noisy end,  
When calmly does the Sun descend:  
Or if you must have Prodigies,  
Think of the Millions of Weeping Eyes,  
The Truest kind of Elegies;  
Or else let this be reckoned one,  
That 'tis a Prodigy— That you have none.  
In Halcyon-days your Dove like. Prince was born,  
Which did with him return;  
His Realms five Lustres have Peace's white Livery worn;  
Living, He Peace bestowed on every side,  
Kept all in Peace, and Peaceably He Died.   

XIV.  
It scarce had spoke; when, lo! a sudden Thunder  
(for such at first it did appear)  
Shaked the Thin Ghost asunder;  
Which straight dissolved into its Primitive Air.  
From the cold Turf I quickly raised my Head,  
Left there my Load of Grief, and to the Town for shelter fled;  
 (as I thought) the Storm should fall upon my Head.  
The City soon I reached, helped with the wings of Fear:  
But my old Grief and Fright soon changed into  
new Dread and Wonder  
When, what I took for Thunder's noise,  
A second Peal informed me was the Canon's roaring voice;  
Which led me to a Loyal Crowd  
That with Great Triumph did Proclaim,  
With Joyful Shouts and Acclamations Loud,  
A new King's Title, and Imperial Name.  
Amazed at This so easy Change, I said,  
May this Prodigious Shout strike all His Enemies dead—  
Long, and as this Day, Peaceful be His Reign,  
And may His Godlike Brother live in Him again.   

XV.  
Poets of old, were Prophets deemed;  
And if they now were such esteemed,  
(And who knows but they may?)  
If our Predicting Rhimes  
May lucky Omens prove to after Times,  
And, that some Good may be presaged from Names;  
Then would I boldly say  
These Realms are doubly blest in that of James  
Great Britain's Glory did Commence  
When the First James did to the whole give Law:  
He joined the Kingdoms, & derived from thence  
That long white Row of Peaceful years our Happy Fathers saw.  
The Second James by Heaven's Decree  
Will the great Healer of our Breaches be,  
And as His Wisdom does already give our Fears Relief,  
So will His Mercy suddenly Cure all our Public Grief.  
Vvell-skilled He is in all His Royal Grandsire's Arts,  
Who joined both Crowns, as He will do all Hearts,  
May Heaven fulfil, and own the Prophecy:  
But Ireland sure, above the rest  
In that Auspicious Name is doubly Blest:  
For while the Royal James the English Crown does wear,  
And Ormond's Noble James remains His Viceroy here,  
Ireland will ne'er again know cause of Public Grief, or Fear.    

An Heroic POEM Most humbly Dedicated to the Sacred Majesty of CATHARINE Queen Dowager.  

WHat art thou Muse, that dost the Mind inspire,  
And Tun'st the Strings of the Poetic Lyre?  
Refin'st the Drossy Soul to Nobler Flame?  
What art thou, but a strong desire of Fame?  
A greedy Passion of excelling Praise,  
Which moves in different Tempers, different ways:  
To be Admired, first made the Soldier Fight,  
The Courtier Flatter, and the Poet Writ.  
But all such Thoughts from my grieved Bosom fled,  
When first I heard our Sovereign Charles was dead:  
My Soul grew so Oppressed with the sad News,  
I hated Fame, abhorred my once-loved Muse,  
Of all Desire's Grief stopped the eager Sense,  
And froze Ambition to Indifference.  
Oh Frail Condition of all Humane Things!  
See here the Fate of even the Mightiest Kings;  
See here the Glorious Charles, whose Royal worth  
Made Him the Judge of the Disputing Earth;  
The Arbitration in His Bosom lay,  
He held the Sceptre of Imperial sway,  
And War and Peace did His Commanding will obey.  
Like Heaven (by heavens Decree) within His Breast  
The Fates of Kingdoms, and of Empire's Rest;  
And Wisely was He chose for the great Grace,  
For who, like Him, could Govern such a Race  
As His own Murmuring People, sure may guide  
With Ease and Pleasure all the World beside.  
And yet this Monarch—  
Tho' all the Earth depended on His Breath,  
Here lies Himself a Subject now to Death.   

To the Great Dead I here should Altars raise,  
And gild his Laurels with a Poet's praise;  
For all that Writ should choose no other Theme  
Than the Immortal Glories of his Name,  
And sing to all the World the greatness of his Name.  
But oh! I see his Virtues placed too high,  
I stand, and wonder, but want Wings to fly,  
Struck with such Lustre, even the Laureate fell,  
Tho' skilled in all the Arts of Praising well:  
'Tis true he fell, but 'twas like Phaeton,  
Because he durst aspire to drive the Sun.  
Oh boundless Fame! how great is thy excess,  
That Thoughts can never reach, nor Words express!  
With my small Bark I dare not tempt that Coast,  
Where crowds of Shipwrecked Poets I see lost:  
The greatness of the work disdains their toil,  
This Jewel shines too bright to need a foil.  
Nor could I think of Verse, Griefseized my Breast  
And Grief by Silence is the best expressed;  
My Thoughts were dead, till Duty led my way,  
To where his Queen, his Mourning Consort lay:  
The Happiest Portion of his Happy Life,  
The tenderest, Kindest, most Observing Wife.  
Sorrow in pomp, alas! fills all the Place,  
And sits Triumphant upon every Face:  
But in her Looks Magnificent appears,  
Dressed in the sadness of her Royal Tears.  
Heccnba, the greatest Queen that World did know,  
Famed for expression of her mighty Woe,  
Had she lived now, would here Example had;  
Not how to rage's, but to be greatly sad:  
The Indian Widows, whom mistaken Fame  
Admires for d●ing in their Husband's flame,  
Find of their Grief an easy Remedy,  
To live in Pain is harder, than to Die.  
Here no unseemly clamour seeks Relief,  
Her Breast contains the burden of her Grief;  
Which Firelike, suppressed within her Princely mind.  
Lives, and preserves itself by being confined,  
The Royal Mourner, laid in her dark Room,  
Receives th' Officious Visits as they come,  
Those tedious Forms of Cer'mony and State,  
Is a hard Fine she pays for being Great.  
This Dismal Scene on my numbed Fancy wrought  
And sad Ideas gave new wings to Thought,  
The Prophet with his Country born away,  
Hung up his Harp, and Wept, but could not Play:  
But when with Pious Sorrow he Surveyed  
The Great Jerusalem in Ashes laid:  
From the sad Object soon new Fancies spring,  
And Sacred Aleph first began to Sing.   

Good Heaven, of all thy great Mysterious ways  
That Reason comprehends not, yet obeys,  
None moves men more to wonder, or distrust,  
Than thy severe Probations of the Just;  
For who can hear of Pious Catharines' Name,  
(Great in the Glorious Rolls of Holy Fame)  
And not from this sad Scene Expostulate,  
At least lament the Frailty of our State?  
To see that Good and Great both subject are to Fate?  
Else She had been free, whose Life is so from Blame,  
Whose Thoughts make highest Virtue all their aim,  
At which hard mark She always shoots so right,  
That every Action nicely hits the White:  
Heaven sent this Blessing on our English shore,  
T' Instruct this Isle, and Virtue to restore  
From hence long banished by misguided heat,  
And teach us how to be both Good and Great:  
Great in Her Birth, whose Royal Lineage Springs  
From a long Race of Lucitanian Kings:  
And in the current of whose Blood does shine,  
Glorious Remains of the Lancastrian Line.  
She, as a Dowry, brought to England more  
Than any Queen that ever came before,  
She placed the English Arms upon the Africa shore  
But still most Great in this high part of Life,  
As England's Queen, and Mighty Charles' Wife:  
And yet—  
When Charity implores Her as a Friend,  
To see with how much Goodness she'll descend  
To help th' Oppressed, and to redeem the state  
Of the Unhappy, that are Slaves to Fate!  
So the Bright Sun, that Nature sets so high,  
The Glory of whose Beams fill every Eye  
From the great height of his Imperial seat  
Nourishes all things by his kindly heat.   

In those sad times, when with a Powerful Hand  
Cursed Perjury Infected all the Land;  
Justice looked on, but durst not say one word,  
Her Enemy had robbed her of her Sword,  
And by her side her Balance useless lay  
For now, what men believed, they dared not weigh  
Commanding Vice struck every Virtue still,  
All but her Patience how to bear the iii.  
The Epidemic Plague in every Breast,  
The wholesome Spirit's corrupted or oppressed;  
Nothing could now withstand, nothing prevail,  
Nothing but her Pray'ers, that n●ver fail.   

On what vain props all Wickedness is built!  
There's some thing Self-confounding still in guilt  
Else, (Oh mistaking men!) else how could these,  
Innu●'d in the success of Villainies,  
Not see? That the known Virtues of her Name  
Would guard her safe, & that t'attempt her Fame  
Must of their Story prove so hard a Test,  
As shows the Native baseness of the rest,  
Even Zeal itself could never think, that she  
So famed for Virtue and for Piety,  
Can never Cherish wretches to Rebel,  
Or strike the Life of Him she Loved so well:  
‛ Or that a Prince could Harbour such a Thought,  
‛ Who had so bravely for His Country Fought:  
HE Prince within the circle of whose Mind  
‛ All the Heroic Attributes are joined,  
‛ That differently dispersed, hav● made men Great.  
A Prince so Loved, so much preserved by Fate  
 wear these Glorious Crowns; and to repay  
‛ What in His Brother She has born away,  
This showed the Cheat, showed what the Plot designed,  
And all men saw, but such as would be Blind:  
Susanna-like Accused, Her Prayers are heard,  
Her Enemies are Punished, and she Cleared:  
But 'tis no wonder Heaven should take Her part  
That holds such large Possessions in Her Heart:  
Who  a Glorious Piety would Paint  
A great Triumphant Queen, and Praying Saint;  
From the high Image of Her Heavenly Thought  
Might draw th'exactest piece was ever wrought.  
The rising Sun no sooner did display  
His early Beams to kiss the newborn day,  
But that she Risen to Offer up Her Prayers  
To Crown with Blessed success Great Charles' Cares,  
That this our Nation may be Prosperous still,  
And for those few that ever wished Her Ill:  
Mercy's Her Nature's great Prerogative,  
She never thinks of Faults, but to Forgive.   

'Tis this, Great Queen, that makes me dare to bring  
To Your high Fame so poor an Offering.  
Your Goodness knows to judge what we intent,  
And how to Pardon, if we do Offend.  
This knowledge gives me hope you will not blame  
My too-aspiring Verse, nor concealed Name▪  
My humble Duty here my Pride o'er Powers,  
It dares not live in the same Page with Yours:  
The Beams of your great Glory shine so bright,  
I turn my Face away from my too much Light.   

May Earth, Great Queen, give Joy to all your years,  
And Heaven be still Propitious to your Prayers;  
May the great Blessings they alone could send  
On Charles' Happy Reign, and Pious end;  
Have Power to make him in his second Birth  
As great a Saint, as he was King on Earth:  
Where e'er you pass may all your Enemies' bow,  
And Fame when she relates your Name speak true,  
May you possess a Chain of Happier days,  
And better Poets rise to Sing your Praise:  
And when the Fates have Sealed your mighty Doom,  
(For Fate, (too well we see) is sure to come)  
May Heaven a Nobler way supply our want,  
And hoped Success to all our Wishes grant,  
Then when we lose our Queen, we are sure to find our Saint.    

The Description of the CORONATION.  

MY Ravished Muse in such bright Mazes dance,  
So Rapture-struck, and all dissolved in Trance,  
That I her Pencil but in vain provoke,  
To shadow out the Visionary Stroke;  
Since She, (like Angels, that above are Blest,)  
Feels Ecstasies too high to be expressed.  
Nor blame the Muse that would this Subject shun  
Poets and Limners should not meddle with Perfection.  
All common strokes their stinted Art may draw,  
Whilst a Bright Vision keeps the Hand in awe.  
And if th'Original they don't Transcend,  
They only Libel, what they would commend.  
And who can add one little common Ray  
To the gay Splendour of this Happy Day?  
A Day that no Hyperbole can Grace,  
The only Paint that Beautifies a Poem's Face.  
Hail Happy Day! A Day so long Renowned  
For Holy George & several Monarches Crowned!  
Tho' now thy former Glories disappear,  
As twinkling Stars, when Day's bright Gods draw near;  
Yet greater Honours in their room are given,  
From Earth's rag Calandre, thou art transcribed to that of Heaven.  
Long hast thou worn red Characters below,  
But now the Gods will keep thee Holy too.  
Tho' the Morn was spread with Rebel-show'rs of rain  
Yet Jove's kind hand soon for●'d them back again:  
And now the Sun which long did Mourning wear  
Does in his Noblest Gayest Robes appear.  
Whilst on heavens brow no Cloudy frowns were seen,  
But as the Firstday, Pleasant and Serene.  
The gazing Gods throw those dark Skreens away  
That they this Sight the Clearer might Survey  
But if the Sun had lain a bed till now,  
Without his aid we'd seen the Glorious Show.  
The Souls of Kings and Heroes Blest above,  
With Choirs of shining Spirits hither move;  
Mantled in Rays of Light ne'er seen till now,  
On wings of Joy, they hover to and fro,  
Followed by Chariots so Divinely bright;  
To which the Sun but Darkness is, and Night.  
Or had this failed, we might the Prospect take  
From the great Splendour which the Court did make.  
As when we would the Richest Jewels try,  
We need but their own Light to know them by.  
Hark! what soft Airs and Raptures fill the Skies,  
Performed by Infinite Choires of Deities?  
Whilst Mortals too, their rural Music mix,  
And with their Concord the Charmed Planets fix.  
Now Guardian-Angels quit their worted Care,  
And fly in Troops to Gild the London Air.  
Where Aeolus too in gentle Breezes haste;  
Loaded with all the Odours of the East,  
The Essence of each Fragrant Flower He brings,  
And hovers o'er us with His Balmy Wings.  
The Gods own much to Bounteous Nature too,  
From whose Rich Bosom several Treasures flow.  
For had She Awkward been, They had been set  
To the Expense of greater Wonders yet.  
But hold! where does my forward Pencil run  
To end the Day, before 'tis scarce begun?  
Early I risen this Triumph to attend,  
And saw the Royal Pair the Boat ascend.  
Whose Sacred Presence such Devotion strike,  
Poets themselves want Skill to feign the like.  
By slow degrees on Silver Thames they road,  
She as a Goddess, He so like a God,  
That I with Moses wished an Interposing Cloud  
Objects so Bright should put on a Disguise,  
Lest the Adorers faint beneath the Rays.  
In the same Sphere two mighty Suns behold!  
Each of which does contain in a Heavenly World  
And did the Persians see this Royal Pair,  
They'd slight their God, and pay their Homage here.  
He that has tried to fix his daring Eyes  
On that vast Light which Guilds the Morning Skies,  
Will find it yet more dazzling to Survey  
This Pair of Suns, this double Deity.  
The rest o'th' Court I with more ease could view,  
Yet they made more than Humane Figures too.  
With Radiant Jewels being covered all over,  
Half the World's Wealth, with its Pride, they bore.  
Scarlet beneath the Massy-Lace was hid,  
With Imagery, o'er Splended Tissue spread.  
Here the Fair Sex's Art and Patience see,  
Emblem'd in every Rich Embroidery!  
Eight hideous Weeks, which most should Work, they strove,  
Neglecting all the while their Health & Love.  
And the green Girls preparing for the Day,  
Made themselves Pale, to make their Lovers gay.  
On Thames see numerous shining Vessels move,  
Which dance like some transported Orphean Grove.  
And like the Spheres their Artful measures take,  
From the soft Music their own motions make  
But when all did in one close Body meet,  
They looked like some new-built Elisian-street  
Or as if the highest Heaven came down  
Fraughted Gems for his dear James' Crown  
An earnest of His brighter last Eternal one.  
Blessed Thames! hadst thou a Tongue thy bliss to own,  
My Muse had not then made her weakness known;  
But since imperfect signs thy thoughts declare,  
I dare intrude as thy Interpreter.  
Hail Sacred Princes! thrice she seems to say,  
Whom Instinct makes even senseless things obey;  
Your Royal Barge on my soft Bosom made,  
The happi'st wound that Water ever had.  
Under whose weight may I for ever live,  
But, Oh, that wish, You cannot like, forgive!  
Long may You wear that Ancient Potent Crown,  
Which now, (Great Sir) You're going to put on!  
And may Your Sacred, Glorious Sceptre stand  
For ever firm, and easy in Your Hand!  
Your Crown too, (Mighty Queen) long may You wear,  
And be as Happy, as You're Good and Fair!  
And when You'll (late) he pleased t' enrich the Sky;  
May some kind Stars exhale me too on high!  
Where (if the Gods so please) may I reside  
Your fixed, and everlasting Pyramid!  
In the mean while close by Your Palace side  
I will with soft, and constant numbers Glide.  
The common Frowns which Nature bid me wear,  
Shall at Your awful Presence disappear.  
At that Command, I'll henceforth Ebb and Flow,  
And will no Neptune (Sir,) not Thetis (Madam) own but You.  
This Speech being finished, she resigned her care  
To the now Honoured Ground of Westminster;  
Where, lo, the Earth is ready to unfold  
That Pomp the Sea too narrow was to hold.  
But  of State o'er all the ground being spread,  
This doleful Speech the sighing Tellus made.  
What have I done (ye Gods) that I must meet  
This cursed Exclusion from my Sov'reigns' Feet?  
Must I sustain more than half Europe's weight,  
Without the just return of viewing it?  
But know, whoever did these Cover lay,  
Did spoil the greatest Wonder of this day,  
Flora does now in my wronged Bosom lie,  
Furnished with all her Summer Treasury;  
Long since delighting on great CAESAR's Road  
In various Sweets to spread herself abroad.  
Raising her Head, she had been Proud to meet  
A Noble R●ia from Tour Royal Feet.  
But slighted thus,— she'd something more to say,  
But louder Triumphs bore the sound away.  
Such numerous Crowds both far and near were seen,  
That streets seemed Paved, & houses Tiled with Men,  
Chequered with the Fair Sex, appeared more bright,  
Whowith hard gazing fed their eager sight,  
Then sighed & wished, & did the rest in dreams at night.  
So closely pressed they did one Mass appear,  
But when bright James & his fair Queen drew near;  
The mighty Bulk did its own self divide,  
And made a Golden Wall on either side.  
Through which they to the Prince's Chamber past,  
To take Repose, for Gods themselves must rest  
Where having had some short Re-fection,  
And Glorious proper Robes of State put on;  
In the Abbey (now) where Pomp & Triumph waits  
Behold the Royal Godlike CANDIDATES?  
Where after numerous Ceremonies passed,  
Of Unction, Oaths, etc. which several hours did last,  
Their Sacred Heads received the Imperial Crown,  
By CANTERBVY's happy hand set on.  
Blessed Man! what bliss hast thou received this hour  
What couldst thou wish, or could Heaven give thee more?  
Th'exact Description of the Cavalcade,  
And the bright Figures every Order made;  
What hands the Sceptre, Sword, Staff, Orb did wear,  
Or who Curtana, or the Spurs did bear,  
Or by what Peers the Crowns supported were  
What Favourites next the Presence did remain,  
Or what bright Youths bore up the Royal Train  
How from the Temple to the Hall They passed,  
(Where waited for them a Stupendious Feast)  
What Hecatomb fell Victims to Their Board,  
Or what vast Seas of Wine it did afford.  
And lastly, how with the vast Infinite Train,  
They to White-Hall, (now Crowned,) returned again;  
Are Thames that would a mighty Volume ask:  
Nor is't a Poets, but the Herald's task.  
Besides, it would more charge of time require,  
Then now my niggard Fate is pleased to spare.  
But having yet Surveyed the Court alone,  
I now would make the People's transports known  
But I (alas) want Language to express my own.  
Ten thousand Bells in one loud Consort join,  
Both Earth and Heaven itself to Entertain:  
Sure for this Reason they were raised on High,  
That th' Gods might better hear this Harmony.  
The Pleasant Music's nimble footsteps hear,  
Passing Harmoniously from Sphere to Sphere!  
Which now the Starry Battlements has found,  
Which, Hark, reverberates, and multiplies the Sound!  
They Man's Officious, & Injurious call,  
Who interposed the designed Miracle.  
For Joy, their useless Ropes away they'd throw,  
And Music on their own accord bestow.  
Next, Loyal Fires (the People's Offerings) see!  
Like Burning Groves raising their Heads on high!  
As if this night was destined to devour,  
What was designed for the next Winter Store  
See how it Mounts, as if't had an intent  
To reach the Stagarytes Fictitious Element!  
Whilst on Thames too they such vast Fireworks make,  
That all her Streams seem but one Flaming Lake  
The Frighted Gods thinking their Skies on Fire  
For safety to the farthest heavens retire:  
They feared another Race of Giant's rose,  
Who now had Fire instead of Mountains chose.  
But when Discreeter Gods saw the intent,  
Instead of Thunder and Revenge, they sent  
A Herald to proclaim this Compliment.  
Blessed Change! And now the Heavenly Powers rejoice  
That England does approve of their Wise Choice:  
And to its Throne, wronged Loyalty restore,  
Where Treason stretched its ugly Limbs before  
Being Loyal grown, Your Bliss is now complete,  
For You before all Blessings had, but That;  
This day 've Crowned a King, whose Godlike Reign,  
Restores you the Blessed Golden Age again.    

A Poem on the CORONATION.  

Fly Envious Time; why dost our Bliss delay?  
Repair Death's & thy wrongs, & give us day  
The Day which from our Woes must free us all,  
Whom Grief would else Martyr in Charles' fall:  
That Adored Monarch, whose Illustrious Name  
Alone, speaks more, than all the Tongues of Fame  
Whose Loss, levied a Tax of Sighs, and Moan,  
And forced the World t'an Universal Groan.  
Hold, hold my Muse— The Dawn new-gilds the Skies,  
See where Great James our second Sun does rise  
And quite exhales these Vapours from our Eyes  
Tears, and the Sable signs of Grief, give way,  
Chased by the Beams of this most Glorious Day;  
A Day, doubly designed by Destiny  
To remain Sacred to Posterity.  
Something for Geerge's Birth was to It due,  
But now it is Three Kingdoms Birthday too,  
From this Coronation ●e our Lives Renew.  
Each Loyal Heart is struck by'ts Sovereign Rays  
And filled at once with Gratitude and Praise.  
Hark! how the Streets with cheerful Shouts do Ring,  
Excessive Joys in every Bosom spring,  
And the whole Town do IO PAEANS sing.  
While th' Air as loathe such Loyal Sounds to lose  
With thousand Echoes does prolong each close;  
Behold what heaps of Hats, aloft there fly,  
Like thickened Clouds, they steal away the Sky.   

T' attend this Earthly Jove, the World agrees  
In-landers leave their Homes, Seamen the Seas;  
Both English born, & those that Neighbours are;  
With Exultation cleave the yielding Air.  
So in some Garden, decked with Flora's Pride,  
Where all the Glories of the Spring reside,  
There near a Waxed Canopy we see,  
Thousands thus Buz about the Royal-Bee.   

Nature, at this Solemnity Revives,  
And the glad Earth by James' influence Thrives  
Hills, Valleys, Woods, are dressed in new Attire,  
April at its own Beauty does Admire,  
The winged Musicians Carol in the Air,  
The Spacious Meadows, Green-Plush Mantles wear,  
Nay, the pleased heavens without a Cloud appear  
Whilé all the Flowers of the Spring do meet,  
And, than Arabian Spices, smell more sweet,  
The Mighty Pan, the Mighty Pan to Greet.   

How sensible the Houses are, 'tis He!  
Who but in Arras-Gowns the King will see.  
Walls, Windows, Roofs, towers, Steeples, all are set  
With several Eyes, but the least Glimpse to get.  
And lo, the Costly Pomp is now in view,  
Which claims our Wonder, and our Homage too.  
The like of this Day's State not Italy Sings,  
Consular Triumphs, were but petty things:  
Rome too as short of this in Shows, you'll find,  
As her Now Glories, are from those declined.   

Triumphant Sight! In this one Train we may  
Of all that's Noble, take a full Survey.  
Do Arms Delight ye? Surfeit here your View  
On Troops, as can th' Insulting World subdue.   

Nay Learning here in its Perfection shines,  
And Athens now to Westminster Resigns.  
Religion, Law, each her best Charms displays,  
Cheered by the Warmth of his Indulgent Rays;  
Who gave His Word, that he'll maintain the State,  
His Word, Unalt'rable as the Book of Fate.   

Who'll say, the City Brethren, Misers be,  
And but beholds, their this Days Bravery?  
None, none; and by their Gallantry, all guess,  
Their Loyalty's the Cause of their Excess.   

What Rich Attire the spiritual Lords array!  
What Massy Coronets Adorn the Lay!  
Such Cloth of Gold and Silver, Kill my Brain  
My Optics fail, and I grow Blind again.  
Arch-Angels sure, leaving their Glorious Sphere  
Oncemore themselves have Bodifyed, and here  
Resolve, as English Nobles to appear.  
Prince's 've still been waited on, now wait  
And Bowing here, they count they sit in State.   

But stay!— In this Terrestrial Galaxy,  
A glittering Troop, of Beauties I descry,  
Who Ravish with too Bright a Tyranny.  
Such Lustre ne'er was seen in Thetis Train,  
When Dressed i'th' Native Jewels of the Main.  
At every Look I take, new Charms arise,  
Bright are their Diamonds, Brighter are their Eyes.  
And in each Lovely Face, do plainly move,  
Unnumbered Signs of Beauty, Wit and Love:  
Should Cold Diogenes these Fair Ones see.  
Pierced by their Darts he would Enamoured be.   

But what Fresh Object's this Invades my Eye,  
And bids my Soul gaze there Etternally?  
Assured I am, our Climate never held  
Before a Beauty so unparallelled,  
All Heavenly Features join themselves in one,  
To show their Triumph in this Face alone;  
The Savages, that Worship the Suns Rise,  
Would hate their God, if they beheld these Eyes.  
The Wealth She wears about her, more does hid  
Than it Adorns, Her Native Beauty's Pride.  
Mirror of Heaven! Wonder of the Earth!  
Oh! thou Bright Goddess of Celestial Birth!  
Now Caesar's Glory Augmentable seems,  
Since You appear, and deign to mix your Beams  
'Tis She! 'Tis England's Queen whom thus we view,  
The Crown, not Her, but She the Crown does Grace  
Before She swayed an Empire in Her Face.  
Had Virgil lived this Mary but to see,  
Dido had in Oblivion Slept, and She  
Had given his Muse, Her best Eternity.   

And now the Monarch of the Day's in sight,  
From whom the rest receive their borrowed Light,  
Who giving way, His Brighter Splendour own,  
As Stars do vanish at th'approach o'th' Sun.  
Oh! what a Flood of Virtues from Him flows!  
How like a God Installed on Earth He shows!  
Thus when the Thickest Darkness Phoebus Shrowds,  
With greater Fulgence he breaks through the Clouds:  
Look on His Face, His Royal Mein but mind,  
And to be Traitors now, we must be blind.  
Mankind's Delight! and Heaven's chiefest Care,  
To victory, as to's Crown the Lawful Heir.  
The World has always Shaken at His Alarms,  
At Sea and Land Success still Crowned His Arms.  
Ye Bold Excluders, see your Injured Prince,  
And may this Sight You of your Crime convince,  
Crouch crouch, Rebellious Sirs, & own your Insolence  
Both how to Pardon, and Revenge, He knows,  
To Guard his Friends, and to Destroy his Foes.  
Down, down then at His Feet without delay,  
With double Loyalty His wrongs repay;  
Lay, lay Him in your Hearts, and beg of Fate,  
He long may Reign, though He is Crowned, but late,  
He shall; for th' thing that's slowly's sure done,  
And He whom Heaven designs to six on's Throne,  
It is the longer sitting Him thereon.  
No more shall Lawless, Hare-brained Faction ●age,  
But may His Reign bring back the Golden Age.  
May from His Sacred Consort's Womb Increase,  
Spring Present Joy, and Future Age's Peace.  
Let's keep their ●ath, which He (a Subject) made,  
Who still His King Unmurmuring Obeyed.  
Let's think His Foes be Ours, as so They are,  
Think on His Martyred Father, and beware.  
And let this Sight, (though ended, ne'er be done,  
But let it still, and still be Thought upon,  
And Thought on, even to Convert Rebellion.    
LONDON.