The Grateful Acknowledgement Of a Late Trimming Regulator.  
Humbly Presented to that Honest and Worthy Country Gentleman who is come lately to Town, and styles himself by the Name of Multum in Parvo. With a most Strange and Wonderful PROPHECY, Taken out of Britain's Genius.  
Written in the time of the late Wars, by that Famous and Divine Poet of our Age, Captain George Withers.  
London, Printed in the Year, 1688.   

The Grateful Acknowledgement of a late Trimming Regulator.  
THou honest Janus Face, what didst thou mean?  
My Eyes to blind in thy so great Extreme:  
Thy very Front did make my Heart to ache,  
Booted Apostles made my Soul to quake.  
Thou gav'st me Poison in a bitter Cup,  
Thou gav'st me Oil, and bid me drink it up,  
'Twould cure all Poison to the very Heart,  
Thus thou was pleased at me to sling thy Dart.  
Thy Title Page did swell my Eyes with Grief,  
Thy Antidote did soon give me Relief;  
Thy Regulators put me in such Fret,  
As if I were a Prey unto his Net;  
Who by the Stars, long since, hath often said,  
About this time in England should be laid:  
Till that within I soon there did behold,  
Thy first twelve Lines were worth their weight in Gold:  
At the first sight, my trembling hand was such,  
And more afraid than some are of the Dutch;  
My Head was hot, as if all on a Fire,  
My Pulse did beat still higher and still higher,  
To stay at home, or else straightways to flee,  
For my Protection, to the Orange Tree;  
Straightways to run, or else to stay at home,  
Or else to fly with Peter's unto Rome;  
To let them know of our late sad Disaster,  
These were my thoughts, until thy Sovereign Plaster  
Did ease my mind, by thy ingenious Pen,  
Who first did wound, and after cured our Men:  
When we perceived the Cream of thy Contest,  
Multum was much, and Parvo was in jest;  
Booted Apostles only was a Trap  
To catch some Gudgeons with thy French Fools Cap,  
Printing and Paper being near of kin,  
Without the First Ink is a foolish thing;  
The Gudgeons here, must pay the Printing-Press;  
So that at present we may give a guess,  
This Genteal Plot, which surely was thy Own,  
Instead of Ten we wish thee Forty One;  
At every throw, and every Hawl and Pull,  
Sometimes a Gudgeon, sometimes a Seagull:  
Could we but know Thee in thy naked Dress,  
We'd soon surround thee with a fair Address;  
Hussa's and Acclamations we must give,  
Unto thy Lines, so long as we do live.  
Adam, where art thou? now let all Men know,  
Bowls do run Trim, where Thistles used to Grow:  
Lo, here we come, our Service to Present,  
With all Submission, to thy good Intent;  
And those that will not join in this thy Pace,  
Are not (we fear) of the True Christian Race.  
Thy Royal Master, Forty One, and we,  
Ought to present Thee to the Orange Tree.  
Thou hast said more than ever we could think,  
What, dost thou write with some Inspired Ink;  
You make Distinctions to all Sober Men,  
'Twixt Forty One, and Thirty Nine with Ten;  
Which is a thing which few Men Understand,  
Which made them so the Forty One Men Brand.  
Rebels and Traitors, Men of Forty One,  
The Tories Curse, and the Tantivies Tone;  
Men so sunk down beyond Old Adam's Fall,  
Nothing would please them, but a Rope for All:  
So that this Tory and Tantivy Heat,  
May end with some in a cold trembling Sweat.  
We pray to God, that those which shall get Free,  
May never more outface the Tripple-Tree.  
The Regulators in the Rare a Show,  
Concerns not us, as most good People know:  
We gave no Charters up, nor made no Slaves,  
But always counted them a Pack of Knaves;  
Our Post therein, was only to Persuade,  
And to Unhing what those first Rogues had made.  
Squeeze but their Pockets, and then let them Pass,  
One for an Ox, another for an Ass,  
Most bravely matched, to draw both in one Team,  
The Ox before, behind the Ass so Lean.  
Let the State purge them of some Guiney Gold,  
They'll never MORE of our Laws make so Bold,  
Save but their Lives, their Pelf will serve to Pay  
The King's Old Soldiers, though they Run Away.  
That was foretold a thousand Years ago,  
Then was fulfilled this Most Re-ree Show.  
We dare engage our Future Judges shall  
No more Fine Men, according to Whitehall.  
What they did Dictate, that the Judge must Do,  
(Oh Blessed Tools!) Three Nations to Undo.  
Some Men not worth Five thousand Pound i'th' World,  
Must pay One hundred or to Prison Hurled;  
This was the Mode, and this the Fashion then,  
Mad Men to sit, the Wise Men to Condemn.  
Our Souls did grieve, sung Welladay, Alas,  
To see, 'mongst Christians, such things come to Pass.  
This was complained of in the Prophet's Day,  
For one word speaking made a Beast of Prey;  
And though such words not in the least were Treason,  
Yet they were Fined (the Lord knows) without Reason;  
Sooner or later these Men they have Found  
(Like to Old Nick) their Measures under Ground.  
The Fomous B— worth, in those days procured  
A Tory Jury, not to be endured;  
Eight hundred Pounds they gave for Damage there,  
When as two Shillings could not then appear.  
What Men were those that made so much Ado,  
Juries to Pack, our Children to Undo;  
We must them Note, or else we are Undone  
If once they get again a Rising Son.  
By force of Arms they Swore Shame Shriefs, by Name  
We know them well, and though we did complain,  
Got no relief, but only got this Grace,  
For Honest Broom to lose his Crowner's Place.  
Mandamus, Aliis, Pluris, to them all one,  
Are these Men fit to guard the Royal Throne  
Of Justice, which to all Men gives their Due,  
Sure these can't be the Protestants True Blue.  
Such were the Regulators of those times,  
No more we hope to ring such B— B. Chimes.  
Empson and Dudley, little did they Dream,  
To be chastised for their great Extreme;  
Though some have dreamt, that they themselves should Die,  
Upon a Gibbet of two Stories High.  
The Famous OATS, his Cards are all now Trumpets,  
Thanks to High ORANGE and his Mogan Jumps;  
From Exon Gates to Berwick upon Tweed,  
At one great leap, here is a Jump indeed;  
Who would not be a Jumper at this Rate,  
Not one in Millions ever had this Fate.  
God sent his Moses to Egyptian Land,  
To save the Jews from great King Pharaoh's Hand  
God sent his Son, to save us from the Grave,  
Now sends his Orange us all to Unslave;  
Could Monsieur le Grand now Jump as well as He,  
He'd make our Orange leap the Tripple-tree  
If he could catch him; herein lies the Art,  
God hath him raised to make that Kingdom Smart  
For all the works which they have done Amiss,  
This Orange Tree is for them Rods in Piss:  
Instead of Monsieur Jumping here next Spring,  
Before that time another Tune will sing;  
His Orange Land with all his Heart will Give  
Up to the Heir, provided he may Live:  
Ill gotten Goods, when took in so great Haste,  
Do seldom thrive, but quickly they do Waste:  
The boldest Thief, which to that Sport is Bend,  
Is sometimes Hanged before his Money's Spent.  
Courage Brave Hero, be not you Dismayed,  
Nor of his Numerous Arms be you Afraid;  
heavens Lord Protector is your only Prop,  
Next Spring he'll give you your own Orange Crop.  
Invade his Borders but that time, and then  
With your own Troops, and our true English Men,  
We dare be Bold his Army then will Run,  
Like Mists and Fogs before the Rising Sun;  
And many will (like us) run to your Camp,  
Then after Him, you may the Pope new Vamp,  
Who is so warped, he wants an Underlay,  
An Orange Scent will make him Dance the Hay  
So rarely well, whenever you shall come,  
To bid Defiance to the Walls of Rome.  
This we may see before some years be gone,  
By this Great Orange, our Great James' Son.  
Much being lost, we took hold on a Twig,  
This is the Case of the Poor Trimming Whig;  
Being near Drowning by some Men of Note,  
We then did strive only to Trim the Boat,  
To save ourselves, and all our Noble Race,  
And shall we now for this suffer Disgrace,  
If this a Crime esteemed be, and Blot,  
Then let our Names for ever Dye and Rot.  
Upon this Topick we will lose our Lives,  
And leave to God our Children and our Wives.  
And for yourself to own us at this time,  
Sure you must be no less than a Divine.  
The Forty One Men were a Trimming Race,  
The Forty Eight Religion did Disgrace;  
The last were Tories of the highest Form,  
The Nations Scourges, and the Nations Scorn:  
The first were Mild and Gentle like thyself,  
The last were got sure by a Romish Elf;  
For Persecution always leaves behind  
A Sting i'th' tail, and so is NEVER KIND.  
Mark these two words, and the first N Deface,  
There you may see an Honest Trimmers Face.  
And if Men now shall Act as Heretofore,  
God may next turn, Open the Trimmers Door,  
Which if he should, Great Truth will then Prevail,  
And make all Popes to her Dutch Ship strike Sail.  
Our Prince's Sins, to God only are known,  
His Christian Acts we never will Disown.  
The Eighty Eight Men, as they shall Proceed,  
You say you'll watch them as you shall have need;  
But we do hope all things will stand so Fair,  
Whatever comes, the King's the Legal Heir,  
Unless we shall Unhing the Legal Right,  
And for a Commonwealth rise up and Fight;  
Which, in this Land, the Lords will never bear,  
Therefore we must not think such Fruit to Rear:  
When Priests do Run, and Chancellors do Flee,  
We may bless God we have an Orange Tree,  
Who will defend us in our Equal Rights,  
God still Preserve him in such Wars and Fights;  
Whose Sweet Perfume, like God's Grace from Above,  
Is sent from Heaven, to make us live in Love;  
Which if we don't, God knows whose turn is next,  
Let us not dare then, to pervert the Text.  
And so we'll leave thee to thy next Effort,  
Storm Roger still, and please the Orange Court;  
And let John Bayss from you have one more Lift,  
In Statu Quo, he'll turn for his last Shift;  
What e'er it be, we are resolved to buy,  
Or else our Tongues must give our Hearts the lie.  
And so farewell, till we can see thy Face,  
We do believe thy Stock is Noble Race.   

The Prophecy, etc.  
WHen here a Scot shall think his Throne to Set,  
Above the Circle of a British King,  
He shall a Dateless Parliament Beget,  
From whence a Furious Armed Brood shall Spring.  
That Army shall beget a wild Confusion,  
Confusion shall an Anarchy beget,  
That Anarchy shall bring forth in Conclusion,  
A Creature which you have no Name for yet.  
That Creature shall conceive a Sickly State,  
Which shall an Arostocracy Produce,  
The many Headed Beast not liking that,  
To raise Democracy shall rather choose;  
And then Democracy's Production shall  
A Moon Calf be, which some a Mole do call:  
So acting for a while, few Men shall know,  
Whether among them, a Supreme or no.  
Five of them shall subdue the other Five,  
And then those Five shall by a doubtful Strife,  
Each others Death so happily contrive,  
That they shall Die to Live a better Life:  
And out of their Corruption Rise there shall,  
A true Supreme acknowledged by All;  
In which the Power of all the Five shall be,  
With Unity made Visible in Three;  
King, People, Parliament, with Priests and Peers,  
Shall be a while your Emulous Grandees,  
Make a confused Pentarchy some Years,  
And leave off their Distinct Claims by Degrees.  
And then shall Righteousness ascend the Throne,  
Then Love and Truth and Peace Re-enter shall;  
Then Faith and Reason shall agree in One,  
And all the Virtues to their Council Call.  
And timely after this, there shall Arise,  
That Kingdom, and that Happy Government,  
Which is the Scope of all those Prophecies,  
Which future Truths obscurely Represent:  
But how this shall be done, few Men shall see,  
For wrought in Clouds and Darkness it shall be;  
And e'er it come to pass in public View,  
Most of these following Signs shall first Ensue.  
A King shall willingly himself Vnking,  
And thereby grow far greater than before,  
The Priests their Priesthoods to contempt shall bring,  
And Piety shall thereby thrive the more.  
A Parliament itself shall overthrow,  
And thereby shall a better Being gain,  
The Peers by setting of themselves below,  
A more enobling Honour shall obtain.  
The People for a while shall be Enslaved,  
And that shall make them for the future Free,  
By private Loss, the Public shall be saved,  
An Army shall by yielding Victor be.  
Then shall God own his People and their Cause,  
The Laws Corruption shall Reform the Laws,  
And Bullocks of the largest Northern Breed,  
Shall Fattened be, where now scarce Sheep can Feed.   

POSTSCRIPT.  
NOli me Tangere, our known Laws do say,  
To him that doth the Royal Sceptre sway,  
Others must pay the Damage in this Cause,  
And Cost to Boot, so says the same Good Laws.  
His Evil Counsellors, these are the Men  
Must be Trussed up in Bunches Ten by Ten:  
Our Prince is safe, the former are not so,  
As they Advise, to Tyburn they must go.