A CITIE-DOG IN A Saint's Doublet: A missive to the Sage common-councel-men of London, who now they can neither will nor choose; are willing to have his Majesty to London.  
To the Rebel City.  

Strumpet disloyal to thy Sovereign's Throne,  
Famous for thy base prostitution;  
Thou hast not yet for thy vile looseness smarted,  
But when the Bawds at Westminster are carted,  
Thou shalt be whipped, whipped till thy shoulders bleed,  
Justice hath sworn it, Fates have so decreed.  
Thou hast these seven years (base slut) and more  
Been to each junto-man a common Whore;  
And now thou seest thy Paramours must fall,  
Their strength and stock being vaded, past recall,  
Now to thy husband to whom thou wert wed,  
Thou art in hope to be remarried;  
He in the Isle of Wight though bolted in  
By revelation, knows thy cursed sin,  
And is resolved ne'er more to bed with thee,  
And so, though London was, yet York may be.   
Printed in the Year. 1648.   

A City-Dog in a Saint's Doublet.  
WIth what Furies the Rebels were first inspired, and with what madness the Citizens of London were possessed, when they first mutually covenanted to rebel against their most gracious King, is now obvious to all men, now that the vizor of their dark projections is plucked off, and the deformity of their intents pointed at by children; so that they can no longer deceive the Kingdom with shadows, or feed them with painted meat, unless they run the hazard, (I mean both Junto and City) the one party to be haled out by the ears, and carted to Tyburn with violence; and the other to have their throats eut, and their houses fired about their ears, they are (temerity, and not loyalty, persuading them thereto) contented, that their Babel be demolished, and the stones and timber thereof swept into the Sea, lest the children of belial that should fucceed, should employ them a second time to the defacing of God's glorious Worship, the nulling of the fundamental and known Laws of the Land, the overthrow of Monarchical Government, (the lively representative of the Government amongst the Angels) and to the murdering, impoverishing and ruining of a free, and if not incensed by Factionists, of themselves, a calm and quiet people, as by lamentable experience hath been verified amongst us of the English Nation for these seven years.  

For which thanks Isaac Pennington to thee,  
And the rest of thy sweet Fraternity:  
Pim broached the But of Wormwood, Brooks drew out,  
And drank a health to Cromwell and his Snout;  
To Essex and his branchers grown so high,  
They bore up Cynthia, as she friskt i'th' sky:  
To thee for ever nulling of the Laws,  
And to the happy thriving of the Cause,  
To the confusion of all Discipline,  
All ancient Orders Moral and Divine.  
To the freedom of the brothers, and their Trubs,  
The metamorphosing Pulpits into Tubs  
For reverend Symkin, that reformed Translator,  
The Sisters and the Gospels' propagater,  
Who with the Toiler Wood-house, can with ease  
Cut out a new Religion if he please,  
To mount aloft, and there unto the Rabble  
Pure nonsense, blasphemy, and treason babble:  
For wigs the Vintner and his headman Fouch,  
Who each day can a new Religion broach;  
For Tate the Druggist, as he will to vary,  
And Wilkins the divine Apothecary.  
For M. Edge the Haberdasher Rock,  
His journeyman to put on any block;  
The Cutler Ask when Farrington is gone,  
Can furbush o'er a new Religion:  
Needome the Dier, when he list to err,  
Can take Religion and new colour her;  
So can Tomkins the Painter, but 'tis true,  
His varnish makes her ugly unto view:  
Fowler the Draper too takes a great pleasure,  
Religion by his own yard to measure;  
So Finch the Mercer, but there's some do tell  
The Scripture gives a yard, he takes an ell,  
The Weaver Robinson whose beard doth bloom,  
Can cast Religion upon any Loom.  
Hoskins the Mariner while his brains doth rock  
Can bring Religion into any Dock:  
Carew the Barber, (not one like to him)  
Can as he list Religion shave and trim.  
The Gardener Elverton who's forced to hop  
On wooden legs, yet can Religion crop;  
The Blacksmith Day, most zealously doth urge,  
And without fire can a Religion forge.  
But to our matter, Brooks drank deep to all,  
Who sought Religion, King, and Kingdoms fall:  
Penington pledged him, and so liked the the cup  
Of deadly Aconite he quaffed it up;  
Draw out apace quoth Brooks, we'll now begin  
Our Mask since we have drawn the City in;  
Quoth Atkins, now let's aim above our reaches,  
And then the first time he beshit his breeches:  
Fairfax with fancies tickled, skip'd about,  
For than he was not troubled with the Gout,  
Though since the pocky humour seized on him,  
And now feeds on his bones in every limb.  
The Fuckster Martin tripping on his toe  
Mongst painted whores in his Seraglio,  
When he heard of the thriving of the plot,  
Cried now my Ducks we'll have the t'other pot,  
And t'other pleasant skirmish on the bed,  
Since now my hopes cannot be Cuckolded:  
Then all the reverend Ganders of the City,  
Incorporated with the State-Committee,  
Most zealous cockbrained, sottish, factious elves  
Plotted the way how to undo themselves,  
Which soon they did contrive, and now would feign  
Have Discipline and Orders once again:  
And Warners Worship hath plucked out the sting,  
And saith, he wisheth, that there were a King.   
The clouds are dispelled, that have so long hovered betwixt truth and the people's eyes, and they perceive that the great Law-making Court is quite metamorphosed to polemical Committees, and to a Council of War, who seize on their lives and persons at their pleasures, & who no sooner hear that a man is rich, but he is made capable of death for his goods, who are so far from hearing, much less redressing the grievances of the people, that one may go from one Tropic to the other, and cross the Equinoctial twenty times ere a Petition tending to the peace of the Kingdom, can be taken into consideration; had the rebellious Devils at Westminster, & the deluded Factionists of the City confined the fire of Reformation in the funnel of the chimney, & appointed some to sweep down the foot, there needed not have been that shooting up of Muskets, whereby the whole house is in danger of burning. I confess the common people will still be common people, they will sometime or other show what they are, and vent their instable passions, & I conclude, that men will be men while there is a world, & as long as the Moon hath an influxious power to make impressions upon their humours, they will be ever greedy and covetous of novelties & mutation, I also very well know, that Kingdoms, States & Cities & all bodies politic are subject to convulsions, to Calentures and Consumptions, as well as the frail bodies of men, & must have an evacuation for their corrupt humours, & may perhaps be Phlebotomized; but I would not have the emblem of innocence, the decent garment for the Ministry, called the Surplice, the unquestionable Book of Common-Prayer so perfectly agreeable unto the Word of God, and the same in effect which hath been for more than five hundred years in the Church of Christ, which hath been so hated by the several Popes, & their Conclaves, & have been so esteemed of by the Martyrs, for instance, M. John Hallien fellow of King's College in Camebridge, who was Martyred in Q. Mary's days, Anno. 1557. & being at the stake amongst many other books that were thrown into the fire unto him, it happened that the Common-Prayer Book fell between his hands, which he joyfully receiving opened it and read till the smoke and flame suffered him not to read any more, & then he fell to Prayers holding his hands up to heaven, and the book between his arms next his heart, thanking God for that mercy in sending him it; I say, I would not have the Surplice so decent, the Common-Prayer Book so holy, & the other indifferent Ceremonies of the Church, be the occasion of rebellious combustions, & bloodshed, to beat Religion into men's brains with a Poleax, is to offer victims of humane blood an acceptable service to Molech, but not to Messiah: but as the excellent Tragedian Webster makes Francisco speak in his white Devil 
Divinity wrested by some factious blood,  
Draws swords, swells battles, and destroys all good.   
Thus far permit me serious, now I shall come to my Cousins of the City a second time, & perhaps be too much sportive, ye fools & madmen who envied your own quiet, and like some of your light-heeld wives, when conceived of a— even longed for a mutation of your estates, you have been apt to rebel in all ages on all occasions, but your forefathers never mutinied on so slender grounds, as you have done, tell me my fine Wittolls, was it not better to have the Government of the Church by Archbishops and Bishops, then to have no Church at all? or at least, managed by those who know not how to write their names, preach printed Sermons, and who edify none but your wives after bathe & Sack-possits. Was it not better to have a King to reign over you, whose clemency you had so ample experience of, who denied you no immunities requisite for you to ask, & convenient for him to grant, then to have a house full of Emperors, who sit from morn till night, and stretch their inventions upon the tenters how to bridle and saddle you, & not be kicked, & to screw money out of your purses, & not have you imagine they hoard it up for themselves, who have made you these seven years their Sumpter-horses to bear their coin, their stairs on which they have ascended to the top of their hopes, (though now they have fall'n from top to bottom, so that their backs are broke) their Bawds, for it is well known that some of them have entered into your wife's Closets, while you have been calling customers into your shops; are you there Mildmay? I meant not you Sir, for I know you hate laced mutton more than Martin doth a Courtesan, what need I tell you of M. Roger's his wife, since you so well know her already? my spruce Cits you must know, that Tom Fairfax hath the Gout, which will hinder his ascent unto a throne, & Nol Cromwell the iron Saint hath taken his progress into the other world; Poyer hath given him his pass, so that if yours and the Juntoes cursed plot to poison his Majesty with a perfumed suit of , or to mingle poison in his usual beveridge, had taken its wished effect, a hundred to one, but you had involved yourselves in a new war about the Crown, each thinking himself worthy to be a King.  

Warner I'll warrant you, Would think it vain,  
To wield a Sceptre, though he wear a chain;  
And reverend Atkins sure hath learned mo●e wit,  
For fear his royal garments he—.  
Though Skippon stalk about with stately pace,  
Yet sure the Mushroom hath attained more grace  
Then for to wish a power over all,  
'Tis best still to be major-general  
Of louse and fleas; to lead the boys about,  
And with his staff of office, bang the rout.  
Or would you, have some Lord, whose worthy merit,  
Bespeaks him fit Prince Charles to disinherit,  
Las my Sord Say had rather still dispose  
Affairs, and lead the faction by the nose,  
Till he hath shown them Machavillian Play,  
And brought them to the whirlpool of decay,  
For Wharton, he would not be Sovereign,  
For fear he fall into a pit again;  
Not like the Saw-pit, into which he fell,  
But one as may Mount Aetna parallel,  
My Lord of Kent would sure scorn the motion,  
Since to his guts he hath so much devotion  
That his great belly goes beyond its verge,  
And struts more than the tun at Heildeberge.  
But would you have the man that rides the Moon,  
Or he that's nought but name great Algernoon,  
Alas he dares not for his Ribbon cracks  
His George is broken and a— lacks,  
Nor will the Seagull Warwick be a King,  
Seeing the Seamen will have no such thing;  
His Lordship hath no list to hunt for Crowns,  
Since his crown 'scap'd a cracking on the Downs.  
For Denbigh he gapes when the plum will fall,  
When Fairfax dies he must be General,  
Although he wish the King were surely dead,  
The only mean that can keep on his head.   
To conclude, ye Serpentine Cuckolds of the Common-Councel, & ye cuckolly Serpents of the City, now after all your Rebellions, Treasons & Impiety, after you have sold yourselves to do mischief, abused God, King, Kingdom & yourselves, bought & paid for your— Treacheries at the price of many millions, used all ways & means to take away Kingly Government, to kill your King & disinherit his posterity, to set up a crew of Rebels and mechanical Traitors in the manner of a State, who suck the heart bloods of the people, and esteem it their chief glory to be cruel, impious and irreligious, after you have permitted the bloodhounds at Westminster, yea and backed them while they have murdered, Imprisoned and plundered all his Majesty's loyal Servants and friends, I say after all this now that you see your Dagon State must fall before the Ark of the Lord his Anointed one, our dread Sovereign Lord King Charles, now you are contented (since you can neither will nor choose) that his Majesty be admitted to London with honour, freedom, and safety. O you Dogs in Saints Doublets, now you are very tender of his Majesty's Person, and are very scrupulous lest his Prerogative be abridged: Curse upon you, do you imagine the King's heart so flexible, that justice will permit him ere to look upon you with a gracious eye?  

No you cursed Cuckolds know your Charters gone,  
Quite forfeited for your Rebellion;  
And you shall be the Subject of each pen,  
Characterizing you basest of men.   
FINIS.