Tertullus Christianus, Or Thanks for the King's Indulgence, with a Rebuke of Ingratitude.  

BE gone Sarcastic Harpies and your Spawns,  
Hence ye rough Satyrs, and ye flattering Fawns:  
Cynics avast, whose wits composed be  
Of Chemic drugs, Salt, Sulphur, Mercury.  
Whilst joyful Non-conformists welcome in  
Their year of Jubilee with cheerful din;  
And with a Clang sent from the Silver Trump  
Blow joy to friends, and strike into a dump  
Repining Foes Come, sound aloud, and clear;  
Let no harsh jarring in your notes appear.  
Conform in this: Transports of gladness shall  
Pass for Fanaticism Venial.  
Confinement to a Cage and place obscure  
To sing well now must needs have taught you sure.  
If Memnon's broken statue, by the ray  
Of rising Phoebus warmed the harp could play;  
And if Drebellus Organs, thawed alone  
By the Sun's heat, gave a melodious tone;  
What? shall not we, when, such a Light is shown,  
Prove that our Instruments are right in tune?  
A Light, like that which Peter's Angel brought,  
(And which the same Celestial power hath wrought)  
Whose piercing Lustre hath dissolved our chains.  
And th' Iron-gate relaxed without pains.  
Setting us Gratis in the open street  
O● Liberty, with clear unshackled feet.  
Look now but up, and see a brighter Scene,  
How the Wrack rides, and Heavens are made serene  
By Royal breath; The Sun with free aspect  
Doth equal light and warmth to all project.  
The Floods are calmed, the swelling Surges cease,  
Assuaged by powerful Trident; that in peace  
The Halcyons now may build their nests.— But oh,  
What mean yond ominous Porpus to and fro,  
Lifting their swarthy backs above the Main,  
As if they did predict some Hurricane  
Or dreadful Tempest? which way stands the wind?  
South East by East. That Quarter is unkind;  
But yet me thinks the sky looks very clear,  
Within the Compass of our Hemisphere.  
Take the Perspective then, contract your eye.  
Well, now a little cloud I do descry  
Like a Man's hand stretched out, (here Like's the same)  
A great way off, towards the Mediterrane.  
Why, this same Cloud, unless you hasten in,  
Will all ' o'ercast, and wet you to the skin.  
How skill you that? Perhaps 'twill disappear  
In time, or meetly turn to wind: how 'ere  
We're in good safety yet, if't come no near.  
Why? hear you not what France of late hath done?  
How they've a Channel cut from the Garown  
To the Levant? an expeditious way,  

Pontifex.  Whereby the Bridge-maker of Thymbris may  
Convey materials to our narrow Seas,  
And let in such Philistines as he please  
By such a Bridge, as Xerxes' numerous host  
Discharged themselves upon the Thracian coast,  
Well, stay but till you see his Galleys float,  
And then perhaps in a small Fisher's Boat,  
Like him, he'll backward Cross the Ocean,  
As right Successor to a Fisherman.  
But why such strange surmizes? sure ye be  
Slipped from the discipline of Agape.  
Has the late signal Favour merited  
No better sentiments, or judgement bred?  
The Pope must come, because it may be so;  
He'll thrust-in's body, where he gets-in's Toe.  
Is Charles and James, and great Eliza's name  
Grown Ciphers then, d'ye think? away for shame,  
And keep your May-bees closely, nor let them swarm  
So soon; you'll find their stings will do much harm,  
And many inward swellings cause, whose rage  
Honey alone, and sweetness will assuage.  
Would you that Shem and Japhet slight the Ark,  
Because a Cham himself doth there embark?  
Or should the Sheep and Doves have kept away  
Because it harboured Wolves and Birds of prey?  
Where Prudence rules affairs, all will do well,  
And noxious things are kept within their Cell.  
Well aimed that ancient Sage, who said or sung,  
Each thing two Handles had, a right and wrong:  
You think perhaps by your lefthanded slights  
T'augment the number of the Benjamites;  
But hit aright, I guess, you never will,  
No gain their glory by your awkard skill.  
What wayward mood incites you to catch hold  
Of the hot end, when you may take the cold?  
Forbear in time, 'twill scorch your hands, I wis;  
Spit but on't first, and you shall find it hiss.  
This is like Moses Rod; offer to take  
It by the head, 'twill prove a biting snake;  
Catch th'end that's tractable, 'twill strait commence  
A staff both for support, and for defence,  
And may perhaps, if rightly used, no less  
Than his in time effect strange miracles  
Do not like peevish Children than refuse  
The proffered good, which you denied would choose;  
Nor show yourselves such idiot Rustic folk  
To chew the wrong end of the Artichoak;  
Nor yet such Cockneys, as your mouths to rake  
With awnes of wheat, when you the grain may take.  
Believe a Friend, you'll make him so: and this  
May prove the Prodrome of a greater bliss.  
Retire a while; Let those that dread the title  
Of New-Phanaticks, show their skill a little.  
And furbish th' ir'Artillery, to contest  
With this new Romish, or Romantic Beast.  
Let them with their adored Ratiocination  
Combat this Monster of their own Creation:  
Forbear, good Pope, and keep beyond the Sea;  
thou'rt killed already in Effigy.  
Or if to vent their passion they but mean?  
'Twill serve in time t'evacuate their spleen.  
Whilst our Tertullus, fraught with gratitude,  
Doth with his old Preamble now conclude,  
Since we by Thee great quietness enjoy,  
Nor Poenall Laws for Conscience us annoy,  
But very worthy deeds Thou dost dispense  
Unto this Nation, by thy providence,  
We always do accept so great Redress,  
Most Noble Felix, with all thankfulness.   
Deus nobis haec otia fecit.  
W. W.   

Printed in the year 1672.