THE CHARACTER OF A Moderate Intelligencer With some select Poems. Written by the same Author. J. C. AN Intelligencer is a State-spie, he pries into each man's breast, and would feign know all men's crimes but his own; He is a constant Imitator of HOLINGSHEAD, his Lines are as harsh and unpleasant, save that he makes more SPEED, and is not so Voluminous, yet he will tell you as quaint stories, as either of those Chronographers, and make as artificial a Narration of Sheriffs and Bailiffs; He is the Countrymen Chronicler, and he sings JO PAEANS to his Muse, as to the Rustic Deities; He is the Citizen's Harbinger, and saveth him the labour of walking on the Change to hear news; He is the Epitome of wit, and is contracted in so small a circumference, that you may draw him through a loophole, or shoot him as a pellet out of an Elder-gun: and though he tell lies by the gross, yet he would have the Booke-turners of this Isle to believe that he useth Moderation. He hath seen the exit of his great Master, that impudent and incorrigible Reviler Britanicus, who while the world lasts shall never be mentioned by any, but to his shame and infamy; and yet he hopeth he is fixed so surely, that all the strength of wit cannot eradicate him: he will tell you his Majesty is in health, is merry, plays at Chess, etc. And then he will comment on His actions, and wish he had never lent his ears to evil Counsellors, evil indeed, when he betrayed his power; then he will counterfeit a whining passion, and condole with Crocodiles tears his present estate; then he will take a large stride, and celebrate the names of the principal of the Decemvirs; he will tell you, that General Leven is in his study, beating his brains to a jelly, to project apt ways for the safety of the contracted Kingdoms, and in deep meditation, how to subdue Antrim and his handful, and tying knots of concord never to be dissolved; that Ormund hath revolted without horror of conscience, and thinketh not that his Majesty's Ghost haunts him, that he is at Dulcarnan, even at his wit's end. That Holmby is richly decked for his Majesty's entertainment; and that he shall commit Sacrilege unwittingly, drink in that new molten Plate once dedicate to the Temple; that he will not yet hearken to Marshal's Instructions, nor hear him to his face revile him; that he is yet minded to wear his Crown, and not to prostrate it and himself at the feet of his vassals, that he will not yet be contented to have a Gallemoffrey of Religions, but will have but one, and that form of Church Government which so many holy Martyrs have sealed with their blood; that he is angry his Queen should be forced from him, and the Revenues of his Crown maintain an Army against him. That the Prince is in France, and is much to be doubted, that he will incense all Christendom to revenge his Father's wrongs; then with a swift career he will transport himself into Holland, and not fear to belie Foreign Nations; he can with wondrous facility make the Swedes and Imperialists shake hands, and by and by meet in battle; he can ralley a scattered Troop that ran clean away, and constrain them to return and fight lustily; he will tell you, that the Turk intendeth no more to invade Christendom, but confine his Silver Moon within her own proper Orb; that Don Camillo Panfillio the Pope's Nephew, is married to the Prince Rosseanos' widow, and bestow a whole page in discoursing that she put off her mourning habit, as if any would imagine a Princess would be married in Sable weeds; that her Vestments were very rich, who will not esteem that possible enough? that they were married by the Vicegerent, in the presence of the Prince Lodovissio, O strange providence I that the Bride's Mother, and her Cousin stood by; this nothing impossible neither, that after they had knit the gordian knot, Ambassadors and Lords sent to Compliment them: take the substance of the narration thus, the Pope's Nephew Camillo Panfillio was married to the Prince Rosseanos' widow, they both being attired in brave , things which great persons seldom put on; that the Prince Lodovissio, the Bride's mother and Cousin stood by while they were married, and when they forsook the Temple, divers Lords and Ambassadors were so mannerly as to compliment with them by their several Proxeiss; ha', ha', ha', a fine story of Tom Thumb sitting under a Cabbadge leaf: thus he stuffs a Cushion with stubble, alas, how else should he amount to a sheet and an half, and increase the trade of Paper? After this he will lead you into Russia, to see the Sea coagulated, and the nose of a Boar wiped away by the frozen hand of Hyoms; then again into Turkey to see the Mahometans sit and tipple in their Coffa houses, and in the streets lousing themselves at noon day; then into Germany to see the ruins of war, and the fatal effects of Schisms and Factions; then into Scotland, and there show Kilketto exercising his Troops, and giving them Military Discipline, encouraging them yet to maintain their Sovereign's cause (Fortune doth not always bend her brows on one party) and once more to elevate a trodden down King; to avenge the deaths of Strafford, Lindsey, and Canterbury; to place K. Charles in his Throne by force (entreaties not the least availing) to Impede the growth of Schism, and to cause the seditious and obstinate to be duteous and pliable; then, as if he ran round in a ring, with a trice he will be again in England. But he will not relate to you, that the Incendiaries there are so out of conceit with the piece of work, about which they have so long been hammering, finding their labour spent in vain, to the loss of their time and credit, that they wish they had never handled carving tools, nor ever kindled a fire to scorch their own fingers; while like a Mill-horse they have gone often round, and now are arrived at the same station where first they set forth; nor that they fear his Majesty's wrongs are so deeply imprinted in his breast, that now having drawn the Sword, they may throw away the Scabbard, and never look to sheathe it again. Nor that London is become another Amsterdam, and that there is a toleration of all Religions, that they are a mixed multitude, such as went with the Children of Israel out of the Land of Egypt, a medley of Jews and Infidels; some Presbyters, some Independents, some Anabaptists, some Brownists, some Arminians, and some Antinomians (that is) some Babel bvilders; some of their Sect against whom Paul disputed, when he fought with beasts at Ephesus, Libertines; some Dippers, whom Learned Featly plunged in Cocytus' Lake; some despisers of God's Ordinance, the Disciples of Browne; some that have a will and ability of themselves to achieve any thing save what is pious, whom King James hath sufficiently canvased, the Sect of Arminius; and some that exclude Christ from his Mediatorship. Nor will he tell you that their hearts fail them, and that they fear the one will take vengeance on the other, and with cain's, that whosoever meeteth them will slay them; nor that the Citizens of London have bought their wit at dear rates, O where was Diogenes his Lantern? and with their expense of Coin and Blood, have purchased his Majesty's wrath: nor that the Queen like another Isabel, is courting Foreign aid, there will be a John of Henault, who if France should degenerate, would assist her opportune hopes, these matters he will not inform you, the Diurnal and he are confederate, and resolve to utter nothing but perfumed breath, and make no Narration but what shall be pleasing to the close Committee. With them as Coadjutors, join the two Empiric Astronomers, Lily and Booker, who can force the Planets that walk retrograde, to make their perambulation no farther than their proper circuit, persuade Malevolent Saturn to smile with a lucky Aspect, smooth up their great Masters in hope of gain, stuffing those empty Bladders with moist air, telling them the motions of the superior Bodies Prognosticate future Tranquillity, that the time will never come when they shall be examined on strict Interrogatories, and yield an account of their Stewardships to their Royal Master, for they must be no longer Stewards; those two Disciples of ERRA PATER, that can make predictions of fair weather in harvest, and that the Sun will lose some part of his light when he is Eclipsed, have led the Commons of this Kingdom, as the Bears are led by the Nose with Bagpipes before them in the morning, and in the afternoon are worried at the Stake, they have cast a veil before their eyes, and have led them into a deep pit by the hand. Let Wharton Illuminate them, he will show them, that his Majesty is not yet so low, but he reads in the book of heaven, he may be yet raised, and that it is possible he may once more be as great as ever; that the Stars threaten the ruin of his enemies, and that they (like Ionas Gourd) shall only flourish for an hour, and then whither away; and that his Majesty's faithful Subjects may yet have a time mutually to rejoice together. But here the Intelligencer hath left me, and I leave him to peruse his own shame. The Sub-Committee. THe Slaves are set, the ink and Counters stands Upon the Table, I at your commands Right Worshipful am come, and here have brought For you a pair of pick-teeth, and a groat: Nay rise not, for your * their wives hens not cackle yet, Undo the Country, seeing you are met. I see the Cannibals, when you I eye, Or the man-eating anthropophagy. You are but under Tyrants not so witty As the Round-Table Knights, the Grand Committee. O were you altogether, you'd outvie The Athenian Thirty, Rome's Decemviri, In Rage, Injustice, Cruelty, as fare As you above those men in number are. What mysteries of Iniquity do we see? Our Goods forced from us, for Propriety. The King Delinquents to protect did strive, What Clubs, Pikes, Halbeits, Lighters saved the five? O Charles, shall I accuse thy dismal fate, That to Pigwidgins art subordinate? Ship-money was unjustly ta'en they say, But what Injustice took the Ships away? To the Kings will the Law's men sought to draw, The Subjects will is now become the Law: The Princely Eagle is mewed up, and Daws, Owlets and Buzzards, wound him with their claws; Bright Sols obscured, and those guide the day, That force his Carr through the most obliqne way. By what hopes is your ambition fed? 'tis red in blood, and may be plainly read. The Bishop's Lands, O strange! ye did of late Attempt in gold to transubstantiate: For 'tis 'gainst Superstition, your intent Is to root out that great Church-Ornament Money and Lands, your swords alas are drawn Against the Bishops, not their Cap or Lawn: And can you think that your design will fadge? Can that house stand is propped with sacrilege? Besides Loans, Contributions, Pole-monies, Bribes, Plunder, and such common privileges, Are words which you'll ne'er learn in holy Writ, Till the Spirit and your Synod has mended it. But I conclude, the Scriptures you look on Not as God's Word, but as the Alcharon; To yield subjection you have quite forgot, And therefore Christ will say, I know you not. Epitaph on the Archbishop of Canterbury. A Heap of learned Dust here lies, England's Archbishop, whose disguise Was such, though 'gainst the Pope he wrote, His cursed betrayers knew it not. Or would not else, but made him be A Martyr to the Papacy. THE ZEALOUS SECTARY. REligion is a Circle, Men contend And run the round in dispute without end. The zealous Brothers say they do not dare To take God's Name in vain, 'tis sin to swear, I say so too; but I'd not have thereby Them privileged, 'bove others for to lie; For to maintain their new erected cause, They hug a lie, and call it pia fraus; They whine, and sigh out lies with so much ruth, As if they grieved 'cause they could ne'er speak truth: They for to vent their lies have Pulpits chose, And thrust them forth apace, at mouth at nose, And how ere gross, are certain to beguile The erring Earthworms of this middle I'll; Nay to the Almighty's self they have been bold To lie, and Green the Anabaptist told They might say false to God; for if things were Not as they wished, most sure God was not there. Not all the Legends of the Saints of old, Nor vast Baronius, nor sly Surius hold Such plenty of apparent lies as are Vented by these men, they in lies do share. Nay more, these power over the Scriptures take, Blot out some clauses, and some new ones make; Knolles durst avouch it would do wondrous well To race out, Christ's descending into Hell, From forth the Creed; but he'll ne'er change I fear The sentence of his own descending there: Yet modestly they use the Creed, for they Would wisely take the Lord's Prayer, root & branch away; And wisely said a Levit of our Nation, The Lord's Prayer was a Popish Innovation; Take heed, you'll grant ere long it should be fed, An't be but to desire your daily bread. Organs to play i'th' Church offends their sense, And therefore they have sung it out from thence: Which shows, if right their minds were understood, They hate it not as Music, but as Good: Their madness makes them sing as much as they Dance, who are bit with a Tarrantula. Ye have your wish, God's worship is put down, Alas that vanished, when Charles missed his Crown When you began with blood to fat our Coast, That fatal debt paid to great strafford's Ghost; When hoodwinked with your zeal, you durst defy, And even too assault his Majesty. Your Ship doth lie at Anchor, but if scanned, You have no Cable, but a Rope of Sand. To Cupid an Ironical Recantation. PArdon Love, my great offence, And my wilful Insolence, That durst boast, I ne'er would be Subject to thy Deity. Thou that Lovers hearts inflam'st, And the proudest Champions tamest, Take thy quiver and thy bow, And thy wont power show. Draw thy Arrow to the head, But not that is tipped with lead, Wound sweet Delia, as thou didst, When my heart so right thou hitst, Pierce her obdurate heart, that I May in her Society Be linked, whose beauty dims the Sun; Who when he spies, bacl doth run All ashamed, that her eye Should with his glorious lustre vie; Wound her deeply, else I fear She ne'er buxom will appear Unto me, who dare to woe Her whom service strive to do Those who far (to outward sense) 'Bove me challenge pre-eminence. I acknowledge, just it were If thou shouldst to shoot forbear, But thy mercy I implore, To forgot what was before: And for the future I will be Another Ovid unto thee. To DELIA, Scorning him. LAdy, scorn me not cause I Jet it not in bravery, Nor because I Lands do want, Nor because my coin is scant; I have that the world can't get, Nor yet for money purchase it. When as thy Silken Lovers all, Having received their burial, Shall on earth be quite forgotten, Ere their earthly Trunks are rotten: I shall live by will of Fame, And ever on the earth have name. Then smooth thy rugged front, and be More blithe, thou my sole Deity, Divinest Beauty, let me twine Thy body in these arms of mine, And be more happy, then if I Did command a Monarchy. Thy rare virtues I'll rehearse, Sing thy praise in lofty verse, That shall make thee honoured be Unto all Posterity, Equalling Julia, Lawra, Stella, Cynthia, Lesbian, Amorella. Then O dearest clear thy brow, And some grace to him allow, Who for thy disdain doth languish, Grant him favour, cease his anguish. Thy sweet beauty drew me on, Thus thy heart to set upon: Be not guilty of my death, If thou hat'st me, ' reave my breath: I shall esteem it my chief bliss, If thy fair hand my soul dismiss: But if pity move thy mind, And that to love thou art inclined, Let me know my happiness, That my thanks I may ezpresse Unto Cupid, and may praise His goodness to me in my Lays. The strange Divorce on the Queen's departure out of England. It cannot be that thou shouldst so departed, And we not strive thy journey to divert. Shall Charles lose half himself, and we not mourn, And on our knees invoke thee to return? They're silent all, a lethargy doth cease Upon their minds, a cramp hath ta'en their knees, They see their loss, and yet untroubled stand, See thy winged Vessel launch out from the Strand, Behold their Sovereign bewail his state With sighs and tears, their crimes to expiate. Have patience, dread Lord, and cease remorse, Heaven itself weeps at this strange Divorce, The Angel's sigh, the genius of the Land Covers her face, and doth amazed stand: But thou ere long shalt see bright Sol display His beams on earth, and make a gaudy day. Great Neptune calm thy waves, thou now dost bear England's Great Queen, who takes the Sea for fear: Not as Europa, when she backed the Bull Whence Lybian Hammon hath his horned skull; Not as Atrides' wife, when she forsook Her Lord, to dote on Alexander's look; But oh accursed, forced on thy waves to run, Her Husbands much bewailed fate to shun. Let Aeol bind the winds in gyves of brass, Not suffer Boreas from his Cave to pass; Let Mermaids with the Sirens now agree, As her Ship glides, to chant harmoniously; Thaetis forsake thy watery bower, as when Thou chear'st thy Son, wronged by the King of men, With all thy watery Train, set forth to meet England's Great Queen, who doth o'er Neptune fleet: A Princess made of goodness, and compact Of all those virtues make her Sex exact, Her virtue wounds her, and she flies from them, Which virtue as a thing of nought esteem. France, let thy Genius smile, our loss to thee Will cause loud Echoes of sweet jollity. Heaven forbidden thou shouldst from goodness fail, And our disease be Epidemical, That thou shouldst fail Her Highness to accept, And honour Charles his Sponse with dread respect: No, we have better thoughts, and we'll not fear That she'll with joy return, and cheer us here. POETASTERS. FRom that all scient, ever springing Fount, Upon the two-browed hill, Parnassus' Mount, The Fountain that Perseus' winged Horse Struck with his hindfoot, when he fetched his course Through the thrice three times lieth and gentle air To save from spoil Andromeda the fair; How come so many thence water to draw, Whom Homer nor the Muses never saw? Learned Tailor, Martin Parker, have their lot, And as a third take in, Mercer the Scot The Independent Presbyter. ALinsey Woolsey Garment mixed with hair, Half Ass, half Mule, or like the Minotaur, A Problem of two Sexes in one met, As if a Camel should a Cow beget, Nabuchadnezars' Image, Water's Smoke, Or as an Apple grafted on an Oak, So the rude Chaos in an heap was laid, When cold the heat, the heat the cold gainsaid: When like an Embryo, this whole mass of clay, Before the Fiat, yet imperfect lay. The Preaching Soldier, and the sighting Priest. THe world's turned arsey varsey, upside down, Old customs out of fashion now are grown, And in great Britain 'tis most sure, there is A strange and wondrous Metamorphosis; Henceforward, it will not so strange appear To me, that I should credit Plato's year: I will believe men's souls to beasts do pass, The strange opinion of Pythagoras; That there's a world i'th' Moon, and I'll ne'er swell To hear there is redemption out of hell: Great Neptune's love, killing Medusa's head, The maid-faced Harpies, nor that the winds have bred Swift Spanish Gennets; Ilè near henceforth doubt Holy S. Dunstane clinched the Devil's snout: For things more strange I with these eyes have seen, A change of that I thought should ne'er have been. The very Heathen have allotted Priests, And they must only wait on Bacchus' Feasts; Delphian Apollo hath his offerings slain, Only by those his offerings do maintain; The Snakelike God Serapis, whom with fear Even all rich Egypt, and the Nations ne'er Devoutly worship, hath his long-gound train, Whose work 'tis only Incense to maintain; Minerva's Temple that doth kiss the sky, Where famed Psamniticus entombed doth lie, Hath those who only do her Rites attend; No Laic Thief must there his duty spend, Where Pan the Arcadian God was worshipped, And Goats adored: there Goats (as I have read) Do mix with womenkind, so got was he Who loved the boy turned to a Cypress Tree; Yet even this rustic Deity hath those To kill his offerings who nought else dispose: But we who serve the true Almighty Jove, Unto our maker show so little love, That we permit both Priests and Laity Serve in the Temple to his Deity. The Priests of Mars ne'er served at Juno's shrine, But Soldiers now descant on things Divine; And that we might amaze the world, we let Priests upon barbed horses for to get; Lincoln alight, doth all God's Lore afford Thou shouldst the Pulpit leave, to take the Sword? To see thee armed doth trouble me so sore, An uncouched Africa Monster could not more; thou'rt a right Centaur, some it much delights: To see thee scuffle 'mongst the Lapethites. I do abhor a woman should wear breeches, A Priest that fights, a man at Arms that Preaches. FINIS.