THE SECOND ADVICE TO THE PAINTER.  

NOw Painter try if thy skilled hand can draw,  
The horrid'st Scene the trembling world ere saw;  
Wipe all the pencils that the former drew,  
In dismal colours dip 'em all anew;  
Colours that may in lively parts express  
The plotted fall of Monarches in a dress:  
May fright the World from Crimes we can't atone,  
With our best bloods, and Christians blush to own:  
But let me first advise you ere you take  
This work in hand, a small reflection make  
On all that's heinous; Murders, Treasons, Fires,  
Deaths in all shapes, and rapines, hot desires:  
Of Murdering Kings I tremble to rehearse,  
A tottering world and sinking Universe:  
Think well on these ere you begin your part  
IT will heighten fancy, and affect your heart:  
In th' upper part of all the Canvas, paint  
His Holiness the Pope, that mighty Saint,  
Old Satan his associate too must stand  
Behind his chair to guide his heart and hand;  
Draw him stuck round with all the toys that come  
From the grand Mint of lies, old foppish Rome:  
Bulls, Dispensations, Pardons, all the baits  
He lays for the dull crowed; the Book of rates  
Will be convenient too, that t'every sin  
The value may be known, pray cram that in:  
Draw him dispersing with a bounteous hand  
For horrid ends the treasure of his Land;  
Dispensing with false Oaths, or any thing,  
So that they'll Murder Charles Great Britain's King:  
Poor fool to think the guardian of his throne,  
Is grown as dull and senseless as his own;  
No, proud Impostor, no● thy hand's too short  
To reach his head or make his fall thy sport.   

Next draw proud France, and his ambitious hope  
Of being mighty, cringing to the Pope:  
'Tis not his zeal to him, or to those laws  
That cheat the world, that his affection draws;  
'Tis interest, mighty interest, bears the sway,  
He dares not, though he's willing, disobey:  
Base Prince and foolish too, yourself you cheat,  
When on such terms as these you would be great;  
You feast your senses, secure at costly rates,  
That nothing else can serve but dellicates  
Dipped in the blood of Princes; Deaths of Kings,  
In your opinion are but vulgar things:  
Had thirst of Empire swayed a generous soul  
These base low tricks could never sure control;  
But to a mind so firm on mischief bend,  
No generous thoughts or honour could prevent  
The meanest actions; Princes should be true,  
And act on principles of honour too:  
Then they are Sacred to the world, and aught  
To be adored, than disrespects a fault:  
But when from base degenerate they are grown,  
The vulgar hurl'um headlong from the throne:  
Go on vile Prince in all these acts, and try,  
How soon your Crown will fade, your Empire die;  
By your example your own Subjects teach,  
To strike at Empires and at Sceptres reach,  
And may their first attempt be on thy head,  
Dethrone thee first of all, then strike thee dead.   

Now Painter to our Subjects dip thy pen  
In black, in horrid black, yet once again;  
For when a Subject from a King revolts,  
Conspires his death, and thinks these things no faults,  
The scene must needs be horrid, first begin  
With Bellasis and his foul and grateful sin:  
Draw him a monster, in as foul a dress  
As ere your heart can think, or hand express;  
Long did he in his Prince's bosom lie  
One would have thought void of all Treachery;  
For what base man but he, could ere conspire  
To set that house, wherein he lives, on fire?  
Who could such Treason harbour in his breast,  
'Gainst th' best of Princes, and to him the best?  
The other Lords must on the Stage be led,  
Drawn— each man with halter on his head,  
And dagger in his heart, that so in vain  
Where with they strove to stab their Sovereign:  
Base Rebels! do you thus your Prince reward?  
Have you no Honour left? or no regard  
T'his Clemency, which some of you I know  
Have tasted, or ye had died for't long ago:  
Had he been cruel or Tirannick grown,  
You had more reason to usurp his Throne;  
But to a Gracious and Obliging Prince,  
'Tis past all hopes of pardon or defence.   

Now Painter draw me Hell in all its heat,  
Let sulphurous flames and dismal darkness meet,  
And in the hottest place, as best befits,  
Draw Stayly, Coleman, and the Jesuits:  
Let 'em endure the flaming brimstone rage,  
Those bloody Traitorous miscreants of our age,  
Those were the men designed (O horrid act)  
Nay were resolved too, to commit the fact;  
Base Rebels don't you know, that Heavens high hand  
Has still kept safe the Monach of our Land,  
And could you think to move our Scene, and do  
What Heavens great Lord had ne'er consented to.  
Burn on vile wretches, think well on these things,  
What Treason is, what 'tis to Murder Kings.   

Now draw in all his Majesty and State,  
Our Sovereign Prince, just rising from his Fate;  
Pray paint him laughing at the follies done  
By th' Pope, and France, his most unchristian Son?  
Prithee Old fellow, prithee tell me why,  
Old England should so much disturb thy Eye:  
Is it because we do not dote like you,  
And worship all your Saints we never knew?  
If these, Old man, our aggravations be,  
Know, we defy thy Malice, Imps, and thee.   

To the KING.  

WElcome great Prince, to Life again, at least,  
welcome from dangers, which we hope are ceased,  
Dangers which lately hovered o'er your head,  
Threatening to strike your rising Glory dead;  
The Cloud's blown over, and the mists away  
Portend the rising of a glorious day?  
May still your Saored Majesty give Law  
To all your Kingdoms, keeping them in awe,  
May your bright Crown, as beauteous rays disperse,  
As any Monarches of the Universe.   
FINIS.