We have brought our Hogs to a fair Market. OR, The IRON Age Turned into GOLD. See they obey our Gracious Sovereign's words, Presto they're gone; and now these wicked Rogues Look like the withered face of an Old Hag, But with three teeth, like to a triple Gag. Never published by any Pen before. By J. A. A lover of his Country's welfare. LONDON: Printed for Thomas Mills, 1660. We have brought our Hogs to a fair Market: OR, The Iron Age Turned into Gold. THeir Militia (like its Patron Mars) was the issue of the Mother, without the concourse of Royal Jupiter, yet their Law it was, if they'd Vote it; though in defiance of their Fundamentals; much like the Old Sexton, who swore his Clock went true, though the Sun said to the contrary: But Actors must have their properties, and since the Stages were Voted down, the only Playhouse was at Westminster, suitable to their Plots wear their Informers, Skippers, and Tailors; Spaniels both fit for Land and Water; Good Conscionable Intelligence; for however Scots bill might inflame the reckoning, the bonest Vermin had not so much for Liing as the Public Faith. Thus the Quixots of our late times fought with the Windmills of their own Heads, quail Monsters of their own ereation, makes Plots and then discovers them; as who fit to Un-kennel the Fox than the Terrier that is part of him. In the next place march to their Adventurers, the Roundheads Legrand, the Rebel's Romance, stories of a larger size than the ears of their Sects, able to strangle the belief of a Soli fidian. I'll present them in their order, and first as a Whiffler before the Show, enter one that trod the Stage with the first, traverse his ground, made a Leg, and exit: The Country People took him for one that by Order of the House was to dance a morris through the west of England. Well, he is a nimble Gentleman, set him but upon Banks his Horse in a Saddle rampant, and it is a great question which part of the Centaur shows the best tricks. There was a Vote passing to translate him with all his Equipage into Monumental Gingerbread, but it was crossed by the Female Committee, alleging that the valour of his Image would by't their Children by the tongues. This Cubit and half of Commander by the help of an Intelligencer routed his Enemies fifty miles off: It is strange you will say, and yet it is generally believed, he would as soon do it at that distance, as near hand. Sure it was his Sword, for which weapon salve was invented, that so wounding and healing like loving Correlates, might both work at the same removes: But the Squib is run to the end of the Rope; Room for the prodigy of valour, Madam Atropos in Breeches, a valiant Knight erantry, and because every Mountebank must have his Zany, throw him in Hasilrig to set off the story: These two, like Bell and the Dragon were always worshipped in the same Chapter; they hunt in their couples, what one doth at the Head the other scores up at the Heels. Thus they kill a man over and over, the one Chiming all in and the other strikes up the Saint's bell. I wonder for how many lives the Lord Hopton took the Lease of his body: First an Earl slew him, than W— out-killed that half a bar, and yet it was thought the sullen Corpse would scarce bleed, were both these Man slayers never so near it: The fame goes of a Dutch Headsman, that he would do his office with so much ease and dexterity, that the Head after Execution should stand still upon the shoulders: it was well Sir W— Knight was not Probationer for the place; thus the Artificers of Death could kill the Man without wounding the Body, like Lightning that melts the Sword and never singes the Scabord. This is the Valiant Hero whose Mistress was the Conqueror, this is the City's Champion, and the Conquerors delight: Translate but the Scene to Round way-down; there Hasilrigs Lobsters were turned into Crabs and crawled backwards; then poor Sir John ran to his Lady for a use of consolation. But the Conquerors were weary of the Arm of Flesh, and now gins an Hosana to Cromwell, one that beat up his Drums clean through the Old Testament; you might learn the Genealogy of our Saviour, by the names in his Regiment. The Muster-master used no other ●●st than the first Chapter in Matthew. Come keen Traitors with your Badgers feet, And Badger-like, by't till your feet do meet: Help ye tart Satirists to imp my rage, With all the Scorpions that should have whipped that Age. Traitors are like Witches; do but whet you Pen. Scratch till the blood come; they'll not hurt you then, Now as the Martyrs were enforced to take The shapes of Beasts, like Hypocrites, at stake, I'll bait my Traitor so, yet not cheat your Eyes, A Traitor within a Beast is no Disguise. With what face could they object to the King, the bringing in of Farriners, ween themselves entertained such an Army of Hebrews? The Traitor Cromwell was never so valorous as when he was making Speeches for Association, which nevertheless he did somewhat ominously with his Neck awry, holding up his Ear as if he had expected Mahomet's Pigeon to have come and promp him. He should be a Bird of prey too by his bloody-beak; his Nose was able to try a young Eagle, whether she was lawfully begotten: but all is not Gold that glisters; what we wonder at in the rest of them was naturally in him, to kill without blood shed. For most of his Trophies were in a Church window, when a Looking-glass would have showed him more superstition; He was so perfect a hater of Images, that he had defaced Gods in his own countenance: If he deal with men, 'tis when he takes them napping in an Old Monument; then down goes dust and ashes; and the stoutest Cavaliers is no better. O brave Oliver! Time's voider. Subsizer to Worms, in whom death, that formerly devoured our Ancestors now ●hew the Cud. He said Grace once, as if he would have fallen aboard with the Marquis of Newcastle, and the Intelligence gave you his bill of fare, but it proved a running banquet, as appeared by the story: Believe him as he whistles to his Cambridge teem of Committee-men, and he doth wonders; but Holy men (like the Holy Language) must be read backwards. They did rifle Colleges to promote Learning, and pulled down Churches for dification. But Sacrilege is entailed upon him: There must be a Cromwell for Cathedrals, as well as Abbeys; A secure Sinner, whose offence carries its pardon in its mouth; for how could he be hanged for Church robbery, which gives itself the benefit for the Clergy. But for all Cromwel's Nose did wear the Dominical Letter, compared to M— otherwise called the Brewer's Copper, he was but like the Virgil's to an Holiday. This was the Man of God; so Sanctified a Thunderbolt, that a Divine in a proportionably blaspheming to his Lord of Hosts, would style him the Archangel, giving Battle to the Devil. They ageeed in nothing, but they were all Adamits in understanding: It is the sign of a Coward to wink and fight; but I wonder from whence Lambert and harrison's purity first proceeded; it was not by tradition: If they were begotten Saints, it was by equivocal Generation; for the Devil in the Father turned Jesuits in the Sons so that their Godliness was of the same Parentage with good Laws, both extracted out of bad Manners, and would they alter the Scripture, as they attempted the Creed, they might vary the Text, and say to Corruption, Thou art our Father. Barbarous Rebels, who will be revenged upon all Learning, because their Treason is beyond the mercy of the Book. There were more Puppets that moved by the name of Champions as, Scot and Thurloe, two of Nols' Petty-toes such snivelling Cowards, that it is a favour to call them so: had Thurloe been to fight with his Teeth, as in other things he resembles the Beast, he would have odds of any man at the weapon: O he's a terrible slaughterman at a dinner had he been Cannibal, to have eaten those that he vanquished, his Gut would have made him valiant. And now I speak of reformation, vous evez Fox, the Tinker, the liveliest Emblem of it that may be; for what did that Rump Parliament ever go about to reform, but Tinker-wife, in mending one hole they made three. I will close up all thus, the Victories of the Rebels, were like the Magical Combat of Apuleius, who thinking he had slain all three of his enemies, found them at last but a triumphirate of bladders. Such and so empty are the imposthumated fancies, so many bladders of their own blowing. Like to Don Quixots Rosary of slaves Strung on a Chain; a murnivall of knaves Packed in a trick like Gipsies when they ride Or, like Colleagues, which sit all of a side, So the vain Satirist stand all a row. As hollow Teeth on a Lute string show. FINIS.