AD POPULUM: OR, A LECTURE TO THE PEOPLE.  
By John Taylor.   printer's or publisher's device 
●… Oxon may 20th.  
Printed in the Year 1644.   

Ad Populum: OR, A LECTURE TO THE PEOPLE.  

YE dull Idolaters, have ye yet bend  
Your Knees enough to your Dagon-Parliament?  
When will ye give us liberty to say  
you're reconciled to the Apocrypha  
And believe Bell an Idol? Do ye yet  
Discern the Footsteps of the Small and Great  
In the ashy Pavement, who, while ye stand  
Half sterved by, devour the Fat o'th' Land?  
Gross Ass of Issachar, poor hackney Clown,  
Betwixt two Burdens wilt thou still couch down?  
Hath not the Son of Beor, that false Seer  
Yet rid thee low enough, but thou must bear  
Repeated Loads? how truly art thou brought  
Into a straight, now, where no humane thought  
Of turning either way can cherished be?  
When wilt thou see the Angel and speak free?   

Balaam enraged, thrice smote his tired Ass,  
But had no Sword, he wished for one. Alas!   

Thy Rider need's not wish, his Hand doth hold  
A two-edged Blade, with which having switched thee old,  
Lean, Blind, & Lame, that thou dost groan beneath  
Thy Cares, thy Bowels he will make his Sheath.  
And much Good do it ye with your Misery:  
ne'er did a fond young Amorist long to lie  
By's Mistress side so much, as you to be  
Possessed of your belov'd Calamity.  
And faith She hath paid you, Sculler, plucked you bare,  
Not left you Eyes, nor Teeth, nor Nails, nor Hair:  
The Kingdoms Bridge-Politique is broken too,  
And not your Lecturers only snuffle now;  
The Cancro almost is Epidemical.   

Be this my prayer, may they so prosper all,  
Who with unworthy private base Intents  
So run a whoring after Parliaments:  
For 'tis concluded by the graver Bench  
That Babylon's Strumpet's now the sounder Wench.   

Good heavy Mule, you were too well, when ease  
And happy plenty from the Land and Seas  
Dropped on your head, which kind heaven reigned down  
By th'blessed Influence of a Monarch's Crown:  
But longed to try which were the better Thing,  
Five hundred Tyrants, or one gentle King.   

Tell me, experienced Fools, did not your days  
Glide smoothlyer on, when in your harmless Plays   

Ye Halterd Finch? 
Christmas games i th' Country.  sold Salt fish to the Court?  
And Bobbed your Brother gently, but in sport?  
When ye had Shorter Sermons, Longer Prayers?  
And sought the good Saint Dennis, not your Mares?  
When the plump Dumpling (like a floating Isle)  
Swum in your own dear Allaegre, the while  
Your Daughter Al'ce, in love with John, forsooth,  
Stareing in's Face, though wide, yet missed her Mouth?  
When no grim Saucy Trooper did ye harm,  
Nor fiercer Dragon, when no Strangers Arm  
Did retch your yellow Bacon, nor envy  
The Richness of your Chimneys Tapestry?  
When good Dame Ellen (your beloved Spouse)  
Bore to the elbow in the Dairy-house,  
With fragrant Leeks did eat the Cheese she wrought,  
Not sent it to the Garrison for nought.   

O those were Golden days! all things were quiet  
While Pym did whisper Treason for his Diet  
At Knightlyes' House, and honest Dick and he  
In private exercised their Lechery;  
Who each Good Friday, ('gainst the Church a Charm)  
Were sure to have a holy Sister warm:  
With which Sweet Flesh,  they had aught to do,  
They sanctified it with a Grace or two.   

But see what love of Liberty affords,  
And the strange Lusting after new-coined Words!   

How much the better are ye now, I pray,  
That ye with much expense have learned to say  
Quarter for Lodging, and can wisely well  
What Carbine signifies, and Granado, tell!  
Which would have passed with you the other day  
From Six-legged Monsters out of Africa:  
And with a painted Cloth, have made a pretty  
Holborne-bridge Jig, or Foole-Trap in the City.  
Was not your Ale as brown, as fat your Beef,  
Ere Plunderer was English for a Thief?  
Poor Souls! unto your Ruin ye are bend?  
Yee've gained a Word, lost a Commandment.  
A glorious Exchange! and we do fear  
KIMBOLTON too was purchased too dear;  
For though we yield it hath a rumbling sound,  
Yet 'tis scarce worth five hundred thousand pound:  
The getting of which word by heart, some guess,  
Hath stood the Kingdom but in little less:  
A word of that rough Shape, men look to know,  
 they come near't if't be wholehoofed or no;  
Had Daniel knowned sure 'twould have made him spare  
The expense of's boiled Pitch, his Fat, and Hair,  
For, armed with that alone, he might with ease  
Have choked the Dragon, without help of these.   

But these your Apples were, ye would be wise  
Though with the Hazard of your Paradise?   

It is the greatest Misery of Mankind  
Fortune at once makes Happy and makes Blind.  
How richly were ye blest in House and Field  
With all the store that a fat Land could yield,  
While hearty ye did in every place,  
At the King's Name, cry out, God save His Grace,  
Not bless the godly Parliament? Ye than  
Were not enslaved, but freeborn Englishmen;  
Your Stacks of Corn were then your own; nay more,  
Ye durst lay Claim then to the Clothes ye wore:  
Your Wives blue Ruff, and Stammel Petticoat  
(In Statute-Lace, which cost her many a Groat  
While any Statute was in use) then lay  
In quiet Lavender till the next high Day:  
Your Sunday-Cloake as then did not miscarry,  
But sure it was to be i'th' Inventory,  
When weary of this life, you had the hap  
With a Warm Pepper-posset and a Cap  
To leave the world, for writing which the Vicar  
Received his Twelve pence and a Cup of Liquor.   

Those Days are gone, your Crests are fallen down,  
And now your journeys to the Market Town  
Are not to sell your Pease, your Oats, your Wheat,  
But of Nine Horses stolen from you t'entreat  
But one to be restored: and this ye do  
To a buffed Captain, or perhaps unto  
His surly Corporall, with the same degree  
Of Cringeing and sordid Idolatry  
Ye used in the former days to fall  
Prostrate unto your Landlord in his Hall,  
When with low Legs, and in an humble guise  
Ye offered up a Capon-Sacrifice  
Unto his Worship at a New-year Tide:  
For which i'th' Buttery having stuffed your hide  
With store of Drink, as heartless as 'twas cold,  
(Which nothing but an Ass' Hoof could hold)  
Ye took your leave, making your three long Stretches,  
One to Himself, Two to his Velvet Breeches.   

No more, no more shall ye take pleasant journeys,  
(The Tempter's at your Elbows, Your Atturnyes)   

Twice by the year to the Shire Town, and there  
O'erthrow a Parson, Drink drunk, and Forswear  
Yourselves, which being done, go home and cry  
The Commonwealth's bound to your Industry.   

No more, no more shall ye in Triumph say  
A Pickering, a Cromwell, and a Wray  
At your Knight's Choice, not (which appeared most fine)  
The bounteous Conduits ran pure Claret Wine:  
Which were good Breathe from Affliction,  
Like comely Stops in an Oration,  
Which intervalled your Grief: but now ye lie  
Under a scourging Perpetuity,  
Destroying you by whole Sale, in such sort  
For your undoing neither wine nor sport  
Shall be allowed ye. When ye joyed to see  
God's Altars pulled down by a Decree  
Of Omri, and his holy Temples made  
Worse than your Stables, sordidly betrayed  
To Filth (our Kingdoms everlasting Stain)  
The Carved works torn down by the Profane;  
When ye beheld the Houses of your King,  
His Ships, Towns, Castles, nay his every Thing  
Detained from him, could ye so foolish be  
To think that your poor Cottages could be free?   

When ye did daily hear such foul Disgrace  
Such Blasphemies thrown in th'Almighties Face  
From out your Pulpits, and did thither run,  
Chirping upon your Lecturers while 'twas done;  
When 'twas your Joy to see God's Service fall,  
Or worshipped slovenly, or not at all;  
When ye so cheerfully did entertain  
Such Lies and Slanders 'gainst your Sovereign,  
Who could bewitch ye into so much Trust  
To think your Honour should not lie i'th' Dust?  
Or that your Forty Marks, to which ye were borne,  
In Soccage, could redeem ye from just Scorn?  
When with a Solemn Gladness ye did break  
The holy Scept, and did no difference make  
'Twixt the unhallowed and the hallowed Land,  
Can you believe that your own walls should stand?  
Or that a Boar (the Fence being broken through)  
Should not lay waist and spoil your Vineyards too?  
That Man plants Hedges 'bout himself in vain,  
Who lays in common Sacred and Profane.   

When your learned Priests, made guilty of all Ills,  
Like Partridges were hunted on the Hills,  
By Painted Chamber and Committee-Men,  
Where were your Tears? where was your Sackcloth then?  
It was your Game to see't, each Bush was bear,  
And not a common Mouth but cried Rett.  
And see the Fruit of it, Your Quarry now,  
Like Israells' Quails, peeps through your Nostrils too;  
Your Clergies Scorn is proved your Plague, & will.   

Go, Go, make Bone fires now, let every Hill  
Shine with your Idoll-Flames, and every Grove  
Be filled with Sisters, Zeal, Joy, Pigs, and Love;  
Let Wisdoms Turk and Pope, the rest among,  
For Ay amidst the Brothers now be sung,  
Arch Deacon Cromwell's visitation  
Hath cleansed all (in whose pure voines doth run  
Th'reforming Blood and virtues of his Grand  
Parent, that Man of Iron, whose tough Hand,  
Armed with his Father's Hammer, at one Blow  
Made many a stately Abbey lie full low)  
Who in one godly March upon his way  
(Helped by his Surrogate the good Lord Grey)  
Five Crosses killed, Five books of Common Prayers,  
Five Surplices, Five Fiddles, and Five Bears.   

Blessed Reformation! And the Time will come  
When Apes as well as Bears shall have their Doom,  
And badger's Fur grow▪ Cheap▪ Deluded Elves,  
Where are those days you promised to yourselves,  
When ye should drink Sack from your own plump well,  
And all your Ditches should run Muskadel?  
The Bishop's Votes are gone, great Strafford lies  
To appease the Base a Noble Sacrifice;  
And yet in sadness (Sirs) I cannot find  
That it raines Fretters yet, or that the Wind  
On his soft Wing brings Spices from the East,  
Without our Ships, or Ingots from the West:  
Nature is still the old slow Thing she was,  
And gravely brings her businesses to pass  
By Sober temperate steps; she does not yet  
Ride Post, make Souse and Puddings at a Heat:  
Nor does our Mother Earth's kind Bowels yield  
Us Choynes of Beef, yet or the Brawny Shield,  
As the Fens do Turf, for Digging; the same Course  
She still observes, only 'tis something worse.   

You thought 'twas brave to rule, and therefore laid  
That burden on your own, which God had made  
For greater Shoulders; Ye enjoyed no rest  
Till your High Constable was above your Priest,  
Angry ye were, and did accuse the Fates  
For making of ye Subjects, and not States;  
Which ye determined to alter, and  
Resolved your own, not Heavens Decree should stand;  
Enraged, ye had it in your heart to stone them,  
Moses and Aaron took too much upon them;  
Ye could not sleep, nor yet in quiet sit  
Till an Ordinance took place of sacred Writ.   

 almost your whole wish: and, faith, confess,  
What have ye got? Come, be ingenious.   

Would ye not give the best horse in your Team  
The three years past were but a fearful Dream,  
And hug your Resurrection, that ye might  
Retast that Manna, once ye set so light?   

we'll not deny't, many great Greivances,  
And Scarlet Sins were nourished, such as these?   

Landlords exacted Rents, the Priests were grown  
So proud, they called th'ten of our Crop their own:  
The Spiritual Courts in every Corner rife,  
A Carnal exercise with a Neighbour's Wife  
Can not be had, but strait they made us stand  
Pinned in a Linen Bag with a white wand,  
Betraying so our Christian Liberty,  
Which gives us Title unto all we see.   

Gross Innovations in Religion too  
Were frequent grown; O what a Tedious do  
Have some Sir john's made, that they might recall  
That Superstitious hypocritical,  
That Popish Trick of praying on the Knee,  
As if GOD joyed in's Servants Misery?  
Troubling the ease and quiet of the Saints,  
(A heinous Crime, and causing sad complaints)  
Whose Postures should be such as might the best  
Mark out and typify eternal Rest:  
Those Idoll-Altar Books, stuffed full of Crosses,  
Bound up in Silver Antichristian Bosses,  
Made of the Whore of Babylon's Thimbles, stood  
Preaching-aloft to grace their God of Wood;  
And men began to prise them more, then either  
The powerful Dod, or his blessed Pew-Mate Cleaver.  
Sad times the while! nay (worse in this then Turks)  
Th' Arminian Preachers had so cried up works,  
That foolish Men (so evil were the days)  
Began to make a Conscience of their ways.  
Now bless us all! we were i'th' very Road  
To Rome, and shortly should have worshipped God.  
By our Idolatrous Forefathers reared,  
Churches (in sooth) began to be repaired,  
Nay more to be adorned; Weep, weep mine eyes!  
This is a roreing sin, a sin that cries!  
And had not this been stopped, there had been found  
Who would have sworn they'd stood on holier ground,  
Then a Justice Parlour on whose Cushionly  
A Dalton and Practice of Piety.  
To sanctify the Room, and purge from sin  
The Bribes his Country Visitours bring in:  
The Corporation-Custard, which before  
(As the fierce Seas curbed by the Sandy Shore)  
Did check the fluent Lect'rers heaving vein,  
And called the Spirit into his Bounds again,  
Awed by the Plumbroath every hour  
Lost more and more still of its wont Power,  
And though the Sisters daily did supply  
With Sighs and Eggs to make the Gusto high,  
Yet 'twould not do: Pride, pride, the Clergies Pride,  
(Which I assure ye, Sirs, was at spring Tide)  
Had got that growth, they did not blush to say  
They would not preach to please the People, they.  
Rank Heresy, if good Master: Henderson  
Can tell what Hresie is—   

How saucy were they grown, who dared to preach  
Th'Elect could Sin? (O most abhorred Breach  
Of th'faithfuls Prividedge!) and that God's Sheep  
Were not whom Marshal brands, but they who keep  
Th'Impossible Commandments. Beside,  
They taught the way to Heaven was not so wide  
That a First-Table-Saint who with a Brother  
Faithful and called, made bold to break the other,  
Can crowd her Belly in: therefore in scorn,  
To take it up, they advised each night and morn,  
She should in humble manner, soft and fair,  
Walk by the Brook of Penance, and then air  
Herself 'bout Weeping-crosse, early and late,  
To fit her Body for the narrow Gate  
Maliciously they taught that no man given  
To Fleshly Lusts, so dying should see Heaven.  
Uncomfortable Doctrines sure they were,  
Enough to make the Godly to despair.  
Who using th'Creature freely, as their own,  
(As 'tis indeed) are often very prone;  
Yet notwithstanding that look to be Heirs  
Of Heaven's joy too, for verily all is Theirs.  
Nor will the Priest  better Manners have  
So long as Tithes are left to feed the Knave,  
Those Villainous Tithes, th'Aegyptians fleshpots, whence  
They loathe the Manna of Benevolence.   

Alas poor Fools! we know not what we lose  
When we do part with our Tenth Lamb and Goose,  
Surely there's Witchcraft in't; the very Fat  
And Marrow of our Substance lies in that,  
Being the Top of Numbers; and 'tis thought  
Sinews and strength from'th Brawny Hercules,  
From whom that Heathenish custom first did rise,  
For mark and ye shall find the plump Divine  
Grow fat by th'ten, we lean by th'other Nine,  
Which Nature teacheth too, look on the Sea  
And she her tithe in the Tenth Wave doth pay  
Lustier than all the rest, as if she meant  
To Seal that Number with a Sacrament.   

whatever the Matter be, it is a Gem  
Unknown to us, but fare too rich for Them.   

Therefore 'tis fit Committees should be sent  
Unto the godly Dowager of Kent,  
That the beloved Matron might prick on  
Her learned and Antiquated Champion,  
(Like a French Chimney-Sweeper) t'creepe once more  
Into Cottons Library through the Back door,  
And fetch from thence a Dose of Syriack Rust,  
Soot Arahick Ana, and of Eastern Dust  
Enough to cast into the People's Eyes,  
They may not see Tithes to be things Divine.  
For while they're bold to vent such daring words,  
That not our Trencher feeds them, but the Lords,  
Be confident of this (such is their Pride,)  
His Business shall be done, ours laid aside.   

All this is true, But pray ye Neighbours say,  
While those light Burdens on your Shoulders lay  
Had ye not merrier Days? The King and Law  
Called for some brick indeed, but gave ye straw;  
The Ship-money was a weight: well, yield it so;  
Since that was damned, does the World better grow?  
Have ye no Burdens now? O happy Men!  
The twentieth Part  paid, the Fifth, and when  
Your new Taskmasters shallbe pleased to call  
And say ye are Delinquents, Farewell All:  
New victories coined to cheat ye every hour,  
Your Purse must bleed so long as they have Power  
To lie, your Taxes to the Garrisons,  
The Pressing and the Slaughter of your Sons,  
Secret Benevolences, and to these  
To top up all, but Fifty Subsidies.   

Are these no Burdens? Let me pity you,  
Sad Souls for only that is left ye now   

Happy ye were and might have so abode,  
Had ye not kneeled like Camels for your Load:  
They ne'er had risen had you kept your State,  
Till ye were wretched, they could not be Great.  
Therefore as crafty Glasiers, who retain  
Nightwalking Drunkards in a Pension,  
That when the Dankness and the Drink command  
Windows may fall, that their frail Trade may stand;  
Or seemeing Conjurers, who have Theives in Pay:  
So dealt the cunning Men with you. For they,  
That their great skill in Surgery might be crowned,  
And their rare Balsam sought for, made the Wound.  
Who (like the meaner Stars which hidden lie  
While the World's looked on by the Heaven's sole eye)  
That they might be adored, and appear Bright,  
Resolved to turn the Globe, and make it Night:   

And good Night Landlord, when will it be Day?  
('tis hard to give, easier to take away.)  
So faint our Hopes be that the sprightly Morn   

Should ever more make her desired Return,  
That they have hardly left a Cock to say  
To our sad Hearts, Cheer up, it will be Day:  
Or call us to Repentance for the sin  
We have so long securely slumbered in,  
The Deny all of our Lord. At first indeed  
They Played with you, as with a new-backed steed,  
Nor did they think it fit to fill your Eye  
With the whole Scene of your large Misery;  
But drew the Curtain by Degrees 'Twas light,  
Your burden then, to bear a Beardless Knight  
Upon your backs, what was it, errand Gulls,  
To think that Calves in time would not prove Bulls?  
Or that like Milo, you should grow in height  
Of strength and Sinew, as your Load in weight!  
Of your New States how could ye think so ill,  
When all things else increase they should stand still?  
No, no, each Man of them is grown so spread  
(Upon the common stock of Fat things fed)   

That the tall Atlas, who the Heavens doth bear,  
Hast under Seal, not one of them comes There.   

Nine dozen of bread dined the young Elephant:  
Whom, when he had more years and volume, Scant  
A Tun would satisfy; Change but the Name,  
The Fable's Theirs: And they confess the same,  
Who are about to geld the Members now:  
(What will the Legislative Ladies do?)  
For since that neither the new-raised Excise,  
The Sequestrations (though they high do rise)  
Their Staple of Plunder nor Jew's fetched of late  
To buy the Wickeds circumcised Estate  
Can fill them all, they are resolved to bate  
Something in Number, as they thrive in weight.  
(So have I seen good Husbands when they found  
Unnecessary Stowage clog their ground,  
Pull down outhouses, that they might not be  
Charged with Repairs, where they no profit see)  
As if they meant to let ye understand  
That five and twenty now can spoil the Land.   

All this and more, ye cannot chufe but see,  
And will ye still Court your own Misery?   

Return, return unto your God and King,  
Obedient hearts, and fair Peace-Offerings bring,  
So shall your weary shoulders soon be eased  
For with such Sacrifices Both are pleased.  
O be Profane no more, no more defile  
God's Temples, nor tread on the sacred oil  
Which doth anoint both King and Priest, no more  
Cast amorous Glances on that painted whore  
Who sits at West-Minster, and 'moungst the rest,  
Hath also this known Character of the Beast,  
She in a Temple maketh her abode,  
Lifting herself 'bove all that's called God:  
But set your Love on them, who for your good.  
Are met to hazard both Estates and Blood,  
The Oxford-Parliament; for, if there be  
At this time any, surely that is she.  
Be no more frighted from all Piety  
Under a false Notion of Popery,  
That Mask is stolen: call it no more The Cause,  
Or Christian Liberty, to have no Laws:  
In points of Faith, take heed how ye appeal  
To the New Gospel made by SAY and SEAL.  
Let David's Psalms be above Sternholds Meter,  
And Wrayes Occasionalls yield to Saint Peter.  
Set up Church Discipline anew, be wise:  
(For since that fell your Daughter's Bellies rise:)  
Grow Charitable again, let not your Hate  
And private spleen bring forth a public Fate:  
So shall ye happy be, and soon return  
The Nation's Envy, who are now their scorn:   

Take up at last, then learn to understand  
The Blow and Sceptre are not for one Hand.   
FINIS.