THE TIME-SERVERS: Or, A TOUCH OF THE TIMES. Being a DIALOGUE between Tory, Towzer, and Tantivee, At the News of the Dissolution of the Late Worthy Parliament at Oxford  
 
The EXPLANATION of the FIGURE.  

REader, here is presented to thy View  
The true Effigies of a Popish Crew:  
An Irish TORY, and a Popish Priest,  
And the Cur TOWZER (to make up the jest)  
All on the speed for Rome; TORY o'ertakes  
The Clergy, and, his Company thus bespeaks,  
Spur on (Sir Priest) Spur on, The day's our own,  
It that a Papist comes t'enjoy the Crown:  
The Parliament's dissolved, the Coast is clear,  
No other Obstacles we need to fear:  
Macmarra cursed be, and Harris too,  
That lets the world know what it should not do,  
In spite of all their tricks let us but join  
Our Forces, all is ours, my life for thine.  
Do you but prate and write, let me alone  
To make the way for a Succession  
By other means, and our Attempts shall be  
Rewarded both with wealth and dignity;  
Act with thy Brains, and I'll act with my Sword,  
Thou shalt a Bishop be, and I a Lord.  
When that day comes-With that the Priest spurs on,  
Bawling (at every jog) Succession:  
Let things go how they will, better or worse,  
The Saddle should be laid on the right Horse;  
I'm for the true Successor's constant sway  
O'th' British Sceptre, let the world say Nay:  
Let Care himself, and his Fanatic Crew,  
Say what they will, Princes must have their due.  
Prince's must have their rights, Religion  
Must always pay its homage to the Crown:  
'tis my belief, I know no Deity  
On Earth to be adored, but Sovereignty.  
The question lies not, how we are t'Obey  
Or Suffer, but whose right it is to Sway  
The Sceptre, Theyr's the right, the duty's ours,  
To be obedient to the Higher Powers.  
Conscience, that silly thing, that keeps in awe  
The trembling Vulgar, must not check the Law;  
The Laws of Empire are most sacred things,  
People will have their due, and why not Kings.  
The times were glorious, and the Nation flourished,  
When th' English Church by Mother Church was nourished.  
But since 'twas weaned from her Breasts, we find  
How She is wasted, languished and pined;  
Revenue's gone, Promotions scarce and few,  
Not half enough for the Tantivee-Crew.  
The times must mend, we must reform the State,  
And I will do't, or sink under my Fate:  
Winged with all the haste I can, I come  
To pay my Homage to the Church of Rome;  
Towzer run on, and TORY clear the way,  
Till I a Mitre get I will not stay.  
And then he humed himself, and spurred again  
A full Tantivee speed with a loose rain,  
And bended Body; Towzer trips before  
(As brisk now as he was in times of Yore)  
And whiles the other bawl's Succession,  
This barks and yelps nothing but Forty-One.  
A cunning Cur to think to drown our fears  
Of future dangers with forgotten Years:  
Well thus they troop together till they come  
Unto the confines of desired Rome,  
And here the Holy-Father ready stands  
With smiling Countenance, and reared Hands  
Lift up to bless them, In the one is Gold,  
The other doth a gorgeous Myter hold,  
These (as the guerdons of their merits) he  
Allures them with; And thus betrayed are we  
'Twixt our known Enemies, and feigned friends,  
Aiming by serving thus their own base ends,  
Us into Popish Slavery to bring,  
Which God in Heaven prevent- God, Save the King.   
FINIS.   

London, Printed for W.H. and are to be Sold by R. Janeway in Pater-Noster-Row. 1681.