WHITEHALL Swept and Furnished.  
By A. T. A Lover of his Country.  

Rouse up my Genius, what art now grown dead?  
Or have I lost thee with my Maidenhead?  
Or think's Apollo to be seen, a sin?  
Cause Ireton wants Hair upon his chin?  
Or did dire Lawson and his Crew combine,  
Abhorring Metre, to immerge the NINE?  
That's not the cause; Thou'st been upon the Rack,  
Since Titchborn's Grapes were cheaper sold than Sack.  
Away to Court, and there take but your fill,  
'Tis 'gainst the Proclamation for to swill;  
In spite of all the tribe of Beelzebub,  
Drink off your Wine, and render them the Tub  
To preach in; whose divine ingenuous scent  
Will teach them better Doctrine than they vent.  
Enter there boldly, prithee be not nice,  
But view each parcel of the Edifice,  
And its Inhabitants: View every man,  
From all that's sacred to the Dripping-pan:  
But spare that Majesty, which once but named,  
Would fill more Volumes than the world hath framed.   

Now to the Work, and first remove that Lumber,  
Which did the Royal Palace so long cumber;  
Nol is marched off, by this hath had his Doom,  
And for his Brothers now is making room.  
I can't but smile to hear how he now raves,  
That killed the Bears, and called the Bear-hoods slaves,  
And Bradshaw prate, but Pluto bids, content,  
Sirrah, you are not here my Precedent.  
And Linx-eyed Sterry, who affirmed of late,  
That British Nero now in Heaven sat,  
Is a true Prophet, and did guests it well,  
He is in Heaven, if there be no Hell:  
That Scot, and Vane, and Hasilrigg will know  
When their deserts shall send them down below,  
Who have so mangled Honour, that we quite  
Have lost distinction 'twixt Sir Knave and Knight.  
Prodigious Pack, and Harrison, and Packer,  
And Hewson, those Varlet's Conscience-maker,  
These Moths of State, and many thousands more,  
Hate Monarchy, as Martin loves a Whore:  
Now bind them up and Cart them, here's my Garter,  
Let Disborow that Lordship be their Carter.   

The Rout is gone, the Royal Train is come,  
Whose very Breath persume●h every room,  
And all those places in this Court that were  
A Den of Thiefs, is now an House of Prayer.  
virtue's in fashion, now are come again,  
And what's as rare, both just and honest men:  
The Veil is taken off which we were under,  
Joan and my Lady parted are asunder.  
Here's Chastity and Beauty, but one smile  
Would raise a Stoics spirits forty Mile:  
So free from Vice, their bodies never tried,  
Whose mental parts are only occupied.  
The Gentlemen so civil and so just,  
You'd think they wanted Instruments of Lust:  
So honoured, each S●r-reverence of theirs,  
More Knightship has than had all Oliver's.  
May you continue virtuous, and my wish  
Shall be Prosperity your chiefest bliss;  
For if you once descend to sordid folly,  
My Paper will grow pale, ink, melancholy.   PROVERBS 25. 5. Take away the wicked from before the King, and his Throne shall be established in Righteousness.  

London, Printed in the year of Restauration. 1660.