Time's Whirligig▪ OR, The Blew-new-made-Gentleman mounted. A Committee-man. Take him Marshal. Heu quantum mutatus ab illo! Written by a faithful Servant and true Lover of his Country, HUM. WILLIS, Esquire. feb: 9th 1646 Printed in the Year, 1647. To all true Hearts. Dear Souls, TO let you know that one as truly now Forgets himself, as he remembers you, I hear present you with I know not what, To do you service.— What though some rotten Upstart swell, what then? So you take't friendly, what care I for them. But would you know this-Sir that's h●re intended. His titles what, and whence he is descended; Then know they call this Gent. sprung from a Fig, The blew-new-made one and Times Whirligig: Titles sufficient to make him a flaunting, And now-time-Gallant (though true worth be wanting) But that which works in me the greatest marvel. Is how beholding you are for his travel; You above all the rest, nowfie upon it, You he must serve though he look blewly on it; And well the fool may so which comes to you, In whom there's such antipathy to blue; Yet if you but consider him the same, That he deserves by playing of his Game, And how he flourishes you'll judge the tool Then by your leave to be more knave than fool; How ere he be (brave Sirs) for that I know You only are, were, must, and shall be so, He comes to kiss your hands, and hopes that you Will give him Quarter for a night or two, And afterwards if so you think it fit To burn him, do, or tear him every bit, Wishing poor England's Tyrants all so used, That have so many honest men abused; And that is all, and that is scarce enough, For them or this dressed up in such a stuff. Yours, and only yours, HUM. WILLIS. This to the Rotten-hearted, Or, England's Tormentors. HAve at you Sirs, 'tis but a word or two, And that's enough, if not too much for you; You that pretend Religion, and why? To make Religion cloak your villainy; You that pretend the public good, but how? Just as the Pigs that whine to suck the Sow; You men-devouring-beasts, you ne'r-be-good, Will nothing please you but our all-hearts-blood? No wonder that sweet England seems a hell, When you sit Judges in our Israel: What e'er you think, we think you mad or worse, D'ye hope to fatten still byth' people's curse? Fox's indeed far best when wished a rope, But you'll unkenneled be e'er long we hope: And then (what then) 'twill be such sport, that O, Actaeon's Dogs ne'er used their Master so. The Prologue. I Writ but what I cannot tell, Nor care not much be't ill or well; then well or ill leted go: Who's quite undone, what needs he care? What needs he fear to say or swears? I think the Kingdoms so. The World and I at variance are, But why there's happened such a jar, would you indeed know why? Good Sir I have more wit than so, Mad men and Fools tell all they know, and so you think may I. What though I lately had a rout, And that all-in did prove all-out, yet we won't fall to bate, I have a trick to meet with him, And others too, as sure as Pym e'er met with strafford's pate. What though the World do look asquint, And people's hearts prove perfect Flint, when I entreat a boon; What though she Grandees leave me than, When I have done what do I can, so I tread on the Moon▪ Nay what though one who bulwarkt all Our huge high State when like to fall, Brave little Ned of Gloster, Though he such gallant things hath done, So Caesar-like for men and some? Yet he may end a loster. What though a Tree or two i'th' West Do over-top and spoil the rest, Nay prithee say what the● Are they not high and mighty now, Who dares, good Sir, then question how, Or why it should be so? All this is nothing, nothing this, If ten times more, 'twere but a pish, To what I now could say, Yet this is all I mean you now, And 'tis enough I dare avow, Of Prologue to the Play. Time's Whirligig, Or, The Blew-new-made-Gentleman mounted. WHat Age is this? what times are now? Vice states it so in each man's brow, with thousands waiting on her, Clothed all in silks and Purple brave, As if no honest man, but knave, should ere again have honour. Whilst virtue (who's so heavenly sweet) That blest are Kings if kiss her feet, goes slighted up and down; She that laments poor England's woes, See, see, how naked there she goes, kikt at by every Clown. An honest man! a thing most rare, Or Gentleman that's Debonair, to live hath much ado; Then what one said, I now avow, 'tis hard not to write Satyrs now, I think you think so too. A Gentleman good Sir, alack, What's that? a last year's Almanac, I thought so by his look, A foolish, useless, worthless thing, A castby now just as the King, whom Upstarts cannot brook. No, no, we have a people now, Blew-apron-blades, men that know how all Nations fill with wonder, Who'r skilled in State-affairs so well, Each man's another machivel, to keep the Gentry under. Religion's made a Tennis-Ball, For every fool to play withal, both which we have so many, That we disputed have so long, 'Bout which is right, and which is wrong, till we have hardly any. The Covenant cried up so just, That all that's honest take it must, or else no Brethren seemed, Is now by those that pressed it most, Cried down as fast in every coast, and Antichristian deemed. Some six years since the bonny Scot An honest man was, was he not? and his Religion pure; But now farewell to him I trow, he's false, and his Religion's so, we neither can endure. Some would forsooth a King, they say, And some at King cries fie away, and then cocks up a Beaver; Yea, some a piece of King would have, But titular, and than 'twere brave, so they might rule for ever. I now have lived to see the day, Wherein a Fig-man bears such sway, that Knights dare scarce sit by him; Yea, I have lived to see the hour, In which a Clothier hath such power, that Lords are glad to buy him. Thus do the froth of all the earth, A spawn sprung from a dunghill birth, now Prince it in our Land: A people come the Lord knows how, Both Fame and nameless till just now, must every one command. Mad Robin-Round-head's made apace, By using Countrymen so base, and Goring to they say; And what do these Committee-men? Don't they make Cavies now again, as fast for them I pray? Kindhearted souls they are indeed, O that we had more of the breed, which take so much pain; Spending their spirits day and night, That they the Cavies may requite, by turning all again. And that they will no quarrels pick, What think you of Bridgewater trick, what wonders there they did then? They sure must all be Chronicled, For knocking Countrymen ith'head, for doing as they bid them. Ah me! what times, sad times are these, Wherein such tadpole slaves with ease, mount up and live respected? When they that have done service more Than ten of them, yea then ten score, go slighted and neglected. Witness those many Gallant men, That fought it out so stouly, when the State was brought most lo, Which now for their Arrears do lie, But not one groat can they come by, though some a begging go. Yet such as have no service done, Nor ever did one hazard run these wars I dare be sworn, But lay for Offices in wait, Aiming to get a great Estate, get thousands in a morn. The Peers and honest hearts above, Now see all this, but dare not move the cause, because not Master; For they to prove the City lover, So long the staff delivered over, that now they cannot ba … e her. Then what is man to trust upon, Who is so fond, so fickle gone, so crazed in's apprehension; He's never well until he be Above his fellows, though strait he down fall beyond dimension. And down good God pluck all such down, That seem for Christ, but seek their own, where ere they come or go; But peace, no more, the rest is meant. O that this long-long Parliament, would rid us of our woe. But Parliaments have done amiss Themselves ere now, pray may not this? then who'll cast anchor there; Alas can men do what they should, Nay, would they do it if they could? a second War I fear. A second War, How can that be? Hath not the Parliament and we brought all we wished to pass? So long as Scots and we agree, And greatest Cavies forced to flee, who fears a war's an ass. But why should we be so secure? Sith God is just he'll ne'er endure, things managed as you see; Pride and oppression cry aloud, They cry to Heaven, to Heaven for blood, and they shrewd sticklers be, O then let King and Parliament, Let all the Land now, now consent to Peace, and fly from sin, Or God the Lord hath said he will, Proud England with worse judgements fill, than ever yet hath been. What was't that beat the first alarms In English hearts to take up arms, I mean i'th' well-affected? Was't not our Church to purify, From all the dregs of Popery, which had her so infected? And this was well, and bravely done, Had we gone on as we begun, it had been a gallant Cure, But for to thrust out one Church so, and suffer twenty worse to grow, this purge is not so pure. And what was next the moving cause, That made us rush even in the jaws of death, with such delight? Was't not lest arbitrary Power, Should State and liberty devour, to slave off if we might. Sure this was it, and this was all, These were the main, the principal, that made the honest fight; And now that this accomplished is, Beyond what we could think or wish, you sweetly them requite. If we sometimes had from our Prince A lash or two, what have we since? indeed a world of favour; Just as from Rehoboam, when One finger should be heavier than the weight of all his Father. How often promised (but still sooled) Were we, the Egyptian taskers should be punished for oppression? But whilst the Sheep hath any wool, Our Shepherds will be never full, tears make but poor impression. Then since that man's grown such a beast, That Home homini lupus est, blest they who are unborn: How ere let's sigh to God above, One sigh may chance to get his love, though men our tears do scorn. Sith things than run so retrograde, And rather worse than better made, what shall the people do? If Ship-money proved such a thing, As made them strive so with a King, d'ye think they won't with you? Come, come, there's yet such English hearts, That dare so boldly play their parts, though you seem Caesar high; That will their ancient Laws maintain, And all their liberties regain, or else will bravely die. Yea those which stood so firmly fast To you these times, from first to last, those very men will do it; And if the best affected will, What think you will the worst sit still? Great Sirs, 'tis time look to it. You honest-few at England's Helm, Who stand for Christ and for the Realm, without selfe-aimes or ends, Rouse yet in time and look about, Thrust but the subtle Foxes our, we yet may all be friends. An undermining crew there are, Mongst you and us, that speak us fair, when all's but mere delusion, Who Jesuited are so well, That they will projects fetch from Hell, but they'll bring all confusion. O what an ague hath this Land, Look how it shakes, how tottering stand, how't pants for some Physician; Poor England's like, just in her growth, Full ripe for birth, ne'er to bring forth, Pride scotnes her a Commission. Hark how the people make their moan, Old, young, rich, poor, hark how they groan in every Town and City; Brick they must make, poor souls, but how, When you no straw will them allow, you Aegypt-brood-Committee. In this distress, great Sirs, we come, Next God, to you, presuming some of you do grieve and wonder: To you who Covenant will keep, With Scots and us, though some dig deep, to blow us all asunder. 'Tis but three things we now desire, Which grant, or England is all fire, three things we beg, no more, And then, and if we perish, let Our blood be on our own heads set, we'll quit you of the score. For what though Bishops be our-worne, And Common-Prayer-Bookes be torn, and all Church-windowes broken; Alas! what can all this make for you, Even just as doth the Directory, when nothing's done according? This, this, 'tis makes the honest groan, God's Building goes so slowly on, and Zions friends neglected: When they who Government despise, And do what's good in their own eyes, sprout up, and are protected. Then if you will a blessing have, From him that you and us must save, if saved we● be at all, First settle things in Gods own House, Else all you does not worth a Louse, your Hony'l prove but Gall. The next, O that you would take oar, To punish all what ere they are, that so abuse the King, Who think till they can him disgrace, By casting dirt in's Royal Face, they ne'er speak gallant thing. Some call him Fool, some Charles the wise Then Witchlike eggs the whites of eyes, as if they did but jeer him; Yet one more civil than the rest, His throat would cut he did protest, if he could e'er come near him. But did he speak so damned a thing, What kill his Prince, out hopeed for King! he did I know't for certain; Strange times I where in at one cursed stro●ke, An upstart Ashe would fallen the Oak, the Royal Oak of Britain. Another spoke so of the King As if some Tinker he had been, or one but sit to spurn; The King, says he, alas what's that? For's Crown you I shortly Ice a Has as mine is serve his tur●e. Nay, this fair Rout that so wounds him. We see doth daringly begin yourselves now to disdain; Christ said it, and we needs must see't, What measure we to others meet, shall be returned again. Then sure until these muting Bird's, Be punished for King-wounding words, how can be think you love him; Come, come, 'tis not his sins alone, 'Tis ours as well makes England groan, then do not too much move him. The third and last if so you please The Kingdom of a burden ease, than which there ne'er was greater, Then down with all Committee men, Though some of them go up again, another way the better. O if but these, these once were granted, How would that bell-spued rout be daunted. which so our ruin labour; O how would all time Englishmen Rejoice to have their King again, and you their fellow-Neighbours. But sure unless these three be mended, Church settled, and the King descended, and your oppressing cease, Steere how you will, yet (by your leave) You'll but yourselves and us deceive, we never shall have peace. And now sigh I these Lines have writ, Some may perchance for lack of wit, suppose the discontented; Or that I am not well affected, Or that I think myself neglected, and so my spleen have vented. But God the Judge of all Mankind, Doth know they wrong my honest mind. this flows from no such Fountain; For on my Mole hill I can play, And dance as merry a Roundelay, as any on his Mountain. I envy none that's honest, no, Though some from shrubs to Cedars grow, in years but two or three, Yea, if they were as high as Paul's. So they be honest hearted souls, the better full 〈◊〉 me. For such all such doel ove the King, And Parliament as well as him, and Covenant so cherish, That it performed may be by all, And so I trust in Christ it shall, though all blasphemer perish. And so He pray, and pray again, And so pray all truehearted men, Lord help, and then we care not; See how false brethren rage and boil, Look how they thousands do beguile, by seeming what they no not. But hark, what's that, I must no more, Great Bulls of Basan gi'en to roar. and threaten me pellmell; Tush come, and welcome what come will, Sith God's my God, and will be still, I fear nor death nor shell. FINIS. England's Petition 〈…〉 74 Psalm. Eternal God wily dose thou now export Thy select people to the rage of these That scorn thy Precepts, why seem'st thou to betray Thy pasture Sheep to Tyrant Wolves a prey▪ Lord, Lord, have mercy, secure them with speed, Who once by thee storm servitnde were freed; O quench thy fury, with compassionate eye Behold thy Zions dire calamity; Great God arise, none can thy power with stand, Destroy them who with sacrilegious hand Defile thy Temples, and with echoes shall Of Trumpets, thy most sacred places fill; And to constrot thee in high nature they Their strea●ing Phsignes in thy Towers display, Those stately 〈◊〉 ●re like Trees cast down With hideous noise, and levelled to the ground, Nor can the doers so exquisutely carved, From their unbridled fury be preserved: The Sanctuary 〈◊〉 to thy 〈◊〉, Is now polluted wit● 〈◊〉 eve●●●ti●g flame, And in their breasts they secretly decree, To grave thy Name in close obscurity. No miracles no Omens now appear Of future joy, no Prophet can declare; When, when thou wilt, most powerful God, impose A welcome period to our bitter woes: How long wilt thou permit them to profane With horrid blasphemies, thy sacred Name; Pluck out thy hidden ●rme Almighty God, O let them know thy power, and feel thy Rod; Thou our Protector wert of Ancient Time, The world beheld thee still defending thine; Thy beck impetuous billows did divide, Bayed with a glassy wall on either side, Crushing the Dragons and Laviathan, Which like a moving I'll surrowe the Main; From vein of wounded Rock at thy command Streams issue, and vast channels dry did stand; The spangled nights are thine, thine are the days, Thou dost adorn Sol with refulgent rays; Thou dost vast Neptune's watery Empire bound With ne'er passed limits, and the World surround With brinish waves: Thine, thine, immortal King, Is mellow Autumn, and the painted Spring; The naked Winter's by thy power most great, Were made a fiery Summer's scorching heat. Forget not Lord their sins, O let thine eyes See how they glory in their blasphemies; Remember the afflictions of the poor, Let not wild beasts thy Turtle chaste devour: O call to mind thy Covenant now, for we In Cells obscure cannot preserved be; Suppress thine enemies that we may sing The praises of our Sempiternal King; Let not thy vengeance sleep; O Lord arise, Observe their crimes and our calamities. The Farewell. GLory be to God above, Peace to all which do him love, this is all I bring; Yet methinks I up could fly, To the Mountains to the Sky, only this to sing. Now can I those Times be … te, Why shan't I my friends salute, and wing it now and then; Fear not then you little Flock, Look but on the bleeding Rock, it will all be well again. Finis.