THE MUSES farewell TO Popery& Slavery, OR, A COLLECTION OF Miscellany Poems, Satyrs, Songs, &c.  
Made by the Most Eminent Wits of the Nation, as the Shams, intrigues, and Plots of Priests and Jesuits gave occasion.  
The Second Edition, with Large Additions, most of them never before Printed.  Suis& ipsa Roma, viribus ruit, Hor. 
LONDON: Printed for S. Burgess, and are to be sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1690.   

TO THE READER.  
IF the Weather-Glass of the Virtuosi be in that kind Useful, the several Papers which frequently come forth, are no less serviceable to the Understanding the Constitution of Times.  
These appear under several Titles, as Intelligences, Addresses, Petitions, Advices, Observations,( not to mention the Pulpit-Harangues, whose Matter is often taken out of the forementioned, with the Form and Trimming peculiar to that sort of Speakers) To these may be added the Satyrs, which afford no less Instruction, tho' more of Diversion, by the Advantage of Verse and Song.  
Among the Ancients, satire was in much esteem, being as a Faithful Looking-Glass of human Nature and Things, wherein the Vices, Ignorance, and Follies of all sort of Persons were fairly represented, which either Self-Love would not suffer them to see, or the Interest and Flattery of others might endeavour to disguise.  
Of Later Times, the Small Remains of the Old Roman Spirit, tho' miserable oppressed with the scandalous Load of Priestly Government, has taken the boldness to express its Resentment of the Enormities of those Infalllible Vicars, by the Persons of Pasquin and Marforio, who upon occasion, do freely tax the Lewdness, hypocrisy and Rapine of that Herd of ecclesiastics.  
Our Neighbours the Dutch, being a People somewhat phlegmatic, are used to oppress their satire by their Pencils; but our Nation, being of a Free and Jolly Temper, has been of long time accustomed to ridicule the Reigning Follies of Particulars, and the Ill Actions and Miscarriages of public Persons by Lampoon and Song. To say nothing of the French and Spaniards, who oft-times are not sparing in that way.  
It has been thought fit, the Present Times having given much occasion to this sort of Writing, to Collect the most Considerable Pieces which have been published of this Nature, and it were to be wished that the like were done in those Things which relate to History and Arts, for this common Reason, lest being neglected for their being Small, they should be lost, becoming the Prey of Time.   

The CONTENTS.  

THE Man of Honour, page. 1.  
The Man of no Honour, p. 5.  
The Vision, p. 10.  
The Advice, p. 13.  
The Converts, p. 14.  
The humble Address of your Majesty's Poet laureate, and others your catholic and Protestant dissenting Rhymers, with the rest of the Fraternity of Minor Poets, Inferior Versifiers and Sonnetteers of Your Majesty's Ancient Corporation of Parnassus, p. 18.  
The laureate, p. 20.  
The Vision of Toleration, p. 25.  
On the Bishops Confinement, p. 28.  
The Last Will and Testament of Father Peters, p. 29.  
The Pope's Wish, p. 33.  
The Protestant Litany, p. 35.  
A Character of Old England, in Allusion to a Piece of Tacitus de Vita Agricolae. p. 37.  
Advice to the Prince of Orange, and the Packet-Boat returned. p. 38.  
The hieroglyphic. p. 40.  
To the Ten Dispensing Judges, p. 41.  
Religious relics: Or, the Sale at the Savoy, upon the Jesuits breaking up their School and chapel, p. 42.  
Private Occurrences: Or, the Transactions of the four last Years, Written in Imitation of the Old Ballad of Hey brave Oliver, Ho brave Oliver, &c. p. 47.  
On Purgatory, p. 50.  
A Stanza lately put upon Tyburn, p. 51.  
Harry cares last Will and Testament, ibid.  
A New Song, p. 53.  
A New Catch in praise of the Reverend Bishops, p. 54.  
A New Song, ibid.  
A New Song of the Mayor being tossed in a Blanket, in the North, p. 57  
A New Song, p. 5●  
Tom tiler; or the Nurse, p. 61  
To the Haters of Popery, By what Names or Titles soever dignified or distinguished, p. 62  
Protestantism revived: Or the Persecuting Church Triumphing, p. 64  
A View of the Religion of the Town: Or a Sunday Moring Ramble, p. 66  
The Papists Exaltation, on His Highness the Prince of Orange His Arrival in London, p. 69  
The Explanation, p. 71  
A New Song on the Prince and Princess of Orange, p. 74  
Tyrconnel's distracted Readings upon his Irish Force in England; In allusion to Mr. Cowley's Pindarick Ode upon destiny. Hoc quoque fatale est sic ipsum expendere fatum, Manil, p. 75  
Notes on the First Stanza, p. 78  
Notes on the Second Stanza, p. 75  
Notes on the Third Stanza, ibid  
Notes of the Fourth Stanza, ibid  
A New Protestant Litany, p. 80  
A New Litany for the Holy Time of Lent, p. 83  
The Council, p. 87  
The Audience, p. 88  
The States-Man's almanac: Being an Excellent New Ballad, in which the Qualities of each Month are considered; whereby it appears, that a Parliament cannot meet in any of the Old Months: With a proposa●… for mending the calendar, humbly offered to th●… Packers of the next Parliament. p. 91  
The almanac. 93  
Epilogue. 95  
The State-Holder: Or, the princes almanac, &c. 96  
The almanac. p. 98  
Epilogue. p. 100.  
The Orange. p. 101.  
An Epistle to Mr. Dryden. p. 103.  
A Sale of Old State household-stuff. p. 107.  
The Dream. p. 110.  
The Paradox on the Confinement of the Lords. p. 113.  
Over the Lord D— rs Door. p. 116.  
Over the Lord S— s Door. Ibid.  
To the Speaking-Head. p. 117.  
The Ghost. Ibid.  
A Dialogue between a Loyal Addressor, &c. p. 118  
A new Song of the misfortunes of an Old Whore and her Brats. p. 119.  
A New Song. p. 124.  
A new Song of an Orange. p. 127.  
A new Song on the Calling of a Free Parliament, January 5th, 1688. p. 129.  
The Second part of Lilli— li burlero Bullen a-la. 131.  
The chancellor turned Tarpaulin. p. 134.  
Stafford's Ghost, February 1681. p. 135.  
On the D— ss of P— th's Picture, Sept. 1682. p. 138.  
All Shams. p. 139.  
Fumbumbis. Or the North-Country-Mayor. &c. 140.  
Essay written over his Door upon an Institution and Induction. p. 142.  
A new Song the of the Times, 1683. Ibid.  
A heroic Scene. Enter Oliver's Porter, fiddler, and Poet in Bedlam, &c. p. 145.  
The true Way to Honour. p. 153.  
A New Litany. p. 154.  
Epitaph on the Lord Fairfax, by the Duke of Buckingham. pag. 155.  
A Match, between the keen razor, and the dull Ax 3 1683. Occasioned by the death of the Lord Ruffel and the E. of Essex. p. 158.  
A New Litany in the Year, 1684. p. 159.  
The Fable of the Pot and Kettle, &c. p. 161.  
Epitaph on Harry Care p. 162.  
A New Way to Honour. Ibid.  
A Lenten Prologue refused by the Players, 1682. p. 163.  
Dangerfield's Ghost to J— p. 166.  
The Troop at Beaconsfield and their March. p. 167.  
SONG. p. 169.  
A true and full Account of a late Conference, &c. 170.  
A new Address to Mr. Bays, on his late Conversion to the Church of Rome. p. 174.  
A short litany. 177  
The Earl of Essex's Ghost, 1687. 178  
Popish politics unmasked. 180  
A paper fixed on the Kings chapel Door on Easter-day 1687. 188.  
Upon K. J. Pistoling a Mastiff Dog at Banbury, in his last Progress. Ibid.  
To the Observator 190  
Old Gammer Cook. 191  
The Drinking Song. 192  
A Dialogue between Father Petre and the Devil. 193  
The Metamorphosis. 197  
Caesar's Ghost. 200  
The Fourth satire of Boileau to W. K. 1687. 210  
A Cawdle for a sick Jesuit 213  
A Congratulatory Poem on his Highness the Prince of Orange, his coming into England. &c. 214  
A Congratulatory Poem to the most Illustrious Queen Mary, upon her Arrival in England. &c. 299  
Ode on the Anniversary of the Kings Birth. &c. 220  
An Ode on the Queens Birth-Day, Sung before their Majesties at White-Hall. By Tho Shadwell. 223    

Miscellany POEMS, &c.  

The Man of HONOUR. Occasioned by a Postscript of Pen's Letter.  

NOT all the Threats or Favours of a Crown,  
A Princes Whisper, or a Tyrants Frown,  
Can awe the Spirit, or 'allure the Mind  
Of him, who to strict Honour is inclined;  
Though all the Pomp and Pleasure that does wait  
On public Places, and Affairs of State,  
should fond court him to be base and great.  
With even Passions, and with settled Face,  
He would remove the Harlots false Embrace:  
Tho' all the Storms and Tempests should arise,  
That Church-Magicians in their Cells device,  
And from their settled Basis Nations tear,  
He would unmoved the mighty Ruin bear;  
Secure in Innocence contemn 'em all,  
And decently arrayed in Honours, fall.   

For this brave Shrewsbury and Lumly's Name,  
Shall stand the foremost in the List of famed;  
Who first with steady Minds the Current broken,  
And to the suppliant Monarch boldly spoken.   

Great Sir, renowned for Constancy; how just  
Have we obeyed the Crown, and served our Trust,  
espoused your Cause and Interest in distress,  
yourself must witness, and our Foes confess!  
Permit us then ill Fortune to accuse,  
That you at last unhappy Councils use,  
And ask the only thing we must refuse.  
Our Lives and Fortunes freely we'll expose,  
Honour alone we cannot, must not lose:  
Honour, that Spark of the celestial Fire,  
That above Nature makes Mankind aspire;  
Ennobles the rude Passions of our Frame,  
With thirst of Glory, and desire of famed;  
The richest Treasure of a generous Breast,  
That gives the Stamp and Standard to the rest.  
Wit, Strength and Courage, are wild dangerous force,  
Unless this softens and directs their Course;  
And would you rob us of the noblest part,  
Accept a Sacrifice without a Heart?  
'tis much beneath the Greatness of a Throne,  
To take the Casket when the Jewel's gone;  
Debauch our Principles, corrupt our Race,  
And teach the Nobles to be False and Base.  
What Confidence can you in them repose,  
Who, e're they serve you, all their Value lose;  
Who once enslave their Conscience to their Lust,  
Have lost the Reins, and can no more be Just.  
Of Honour, Men at first, like Women Nice,  
Raise Maiden-Scruples at unpractis'd 'vice;  
Their modest Nature curbs the struggling flamme,  
And stifles what they wish to act, with shane.  
But once this Fence thrown down, when they perceive  
That they may taste forbidden Fruit and live;  
They stop not here their Course, but safely in,  
Grow Strong, Luxuriant, and bold in Sin;  
True to no Principles, press forward still,  
And only bound by appetite their Will:  
Now fawn and flatter, while this Tide prevails,  
But shift with every veering blast their Sails.  
Mark those that meanly truckle to your Power,  
They once deserted and changed sides before,  
And would to morrow Mahomet adore!  
On higher Springs true Men of Honour move,  
Free is their Service, and unbought their Love:  
When Danger calls, and Honour leads the way,  
With Joy they follow, and with Pride obey:  
When the Rebellious Foe came rolling on,  
And shook with gathering Multitudes the Throne;  
Where were the Minions then? What Arms, what Force,  
could they oppose to stop the Torrents Course?   

Then pembroke, then the Nobles firmly stood,  
Free of their Lives, and lavish of their Blood;  
But when your Orders to mean Ends decline,  
With the same Constancy they all resign.   

Thus spake the Youth, who opened first the way,  
And was the Phosphorus to th'dawning day;  
followed by a more glorious splendid host;  
Than any Age, or any Realm can boast:  
So great their famed, so numerous their Train,  
To name were endless, and to praise in vain;  
But Herbert and great Oxford merit more,  
Bold is their flight, and more sublime they soar;  
So high, their Virtue as yet wants a name,  
Excceding wonder, and surpassing famed:  
Rise, glorious Church, erect thy radiant Head,  
The Storm is past, th' Impending Tempest fled:  
Had Fate decreed thy ruin or Disgrace,  
It had not given such Sons, so brave a Race.  
When for Destruction Heaven a Realm designs,  
The Symptoms first appear in slavish Minds:  
These men would prop a sinking Nations weight,  
Stop falling Vengeance, and Reverse even Fate.  
Let other Nations boast their fruitful Soil,  
Their fragrant Spices, their rich Wine and Oil;  
In breathing Colours, and in living Paint  
Let them excel, their Mastery we grant.  
But to instruct the mind, to arm the Soul  
With Virtue, which no dangers can control;  
Exalt the thought, a speedy Courage lend,  
That horror cannot shake, or pleasure bend:  
These are the English Arts, those we profess  
To be the same in Mis'ry and Success;  
To teach Oppressors Law, assist the good,  
Relieve the Wretched, and subdue the Proud:  
Such are our Souls: But what doth Worth avail  
When Kings commit to hungry Priests the Scale?  
All Merit's light when they dispose the weight,  
Who either would embroil, or rule the State.  
Defame those Heroes who their Yoke refuse,  
And blast that Honesty they cannot use;  
The strength and safety of the Crown destroy,  
And the King's Power against himself employ:  
Affront his Friends, deprive him of the brave,  
Bereft of these he must become their Slave.  
Men, like our Money, come the most in play  
For being base, and of a course alloy.  
The richest Medals, and the purest Gold,  
Of native value, and exactest mould,  
By worth concealed, in private closerts shine,  
For vulgar use too precious and too fine,  
Whilst Tin and Copper with new stamping bright,  
Coin of base Metal, counterfeit and light,  
Do all the Business of the Nations turn,  
raised in Contempt, used and employed in Scorn:  
So shining virtues are for Courts too bright,  
Whose guilty Actions fly their searching light;  
Rich in themselves, disdaining to aspire,  
Great without Pomp they willingly retire:  
Give place to Fools, whose rash misjudging sense  
Increases the weak measures of their Prince;  
prove to admire, and flatter him in ease,  
They study not his good, but how to please;  
They blindly and implicitly run on,  
Nor see those dangers which the others shun:  
Who slow to act, each business duly weigh,  
advice with Freedom, and with Care obey;  
With Wisdom fatal to their Interest strive  
To make their Monarch loved, and Nation thrive;  
Such have no place where Priests and Women Reign,  
Who love fierce Drivers, and a loser rain.    

The Man of no Honour.  

AS the late Character of Godlike Men,  
( Given, as it ought, by a Diviner Pen)  
Will make the Race of those I writ appear  
Low as to Glorious Valour, wretched Fear;  
So the smooth Lines in which those Truths are  told,  
( Lines justly happy as they're Nobly bold)  
With right from humble Muses bold Esteem,  
And show my Verse as distant as my theme.   

Forgive me, you Betrayers of your Land,  
If I do scourge you with a wanting Hand;  
My Will is good to give you all your due,  
The Pope will pardon want of Power in you.   

Your Aid, my Muse, this once I humbly ask,  
Exposing Villany's a Noble task;  
Assist my story with such ample Phrase,  
It may find leave to live and see good Days:  
Stamp an Eternal Value on the Brave,  
By drawing to the Life a sneaking Knave;  
Show him how justly he's exposed by all,  
And show him time may come when he may fall  
Show him on what Foundation now he stands,  
Show him, instead of Rocks, mistaken Lands;  
Show him it lately failed believing man,  
And will do so when time shall serve again.   

When Oxford Prophesies were come to pass,  
And many a squeamish Church-man proved an Ass,  
Then blockish Honesty was made give ground,  
And foolish Knaves were much more useful found;  
A search throughout the Senate passed for such,  
( Since Fools would do to find no more 'twas much)  
Vile Interest was opposed to Men of sense,  
And many from that hour did Rogues commence.  
Besides, with Gold the despicable Slaves,  
Were willingly thought Fools, they might be Knaves.  
Of these the Chief a Consultation call,  
Where they shall stop, or whether stop at all.  
Some faint Resistance Conscience would have made,  
And Honour would have spoken, but was forbade;  
Interest with Impudence assumed the Chair,  
And thus addressed to each Plebeian Fool was there:   

Of all Philosophers that plagued the World,  
And curious Brains in various Labyrinths hurled,  
Nonc fared so ill, and yet so justly fared,  
As those preached virtue for its own Reward;  
More useful Doctrines sprung from wiser Schools,  
They heard their Morals, and resolved them Fools.  
Mark those who strive the multitude to please,  
Nice of their Honour, lavish of their Ease:  
How in the gazing crowd they humbly stand,  
With their perplexing Honesty at hand,  
They dare not use the strength they may command.  
They prove their Grandeur from their humble Soul,  
But he is great who can and dare control;  
You'll soar above, exhaled by Princely Rays,  
And with contempt look down on rotten Praise;  
Laugh at dull Notions of a Glorious Name,  
When Beggery's the Basis of its Frame.  
More useful Honour shall attend your Fate,  
You serve a Power can make you Rich and Great,  
Who scorns the Nations Love shall live above their Hate.  
Permit no Bugbear thoughts against your Cause,  
The loss of your Religion and the Laws,  
Trifles to those who dare their God defy,  
And can with copious Consciences comply.  
Contemn ye foolish Threats of distant Time,  
'tis plain that Honesty is yet a Crime;  
If things hereafter turn another way,  
You'll still be right, for still you can obey:  
ne'er fear the Brand of Knave will hurt you much,  
The best of Courts will stand in need of such;  
Fools oft grow useless, and are laid aside,  
But Knaves of Conduct always will abide:  
Old honesty some poor Employ may get,  
But he that sticks at nothing shall be great,  
The Villain wisely thrives in every State.   

Thus Interest spoken, and merits just Applause,  
The Judges first declared against the Laws;  
Of Levi's Tribe not many went astray,  
( Much wondered at, since they procured this Day)  
But men of Conscience oft in judgement fail,  
Mistaken Loyalty did once prevail,  
But such Diseases now no more they all.  
Become good Christians by Afflictions Rod,  
Their King they Honour, but they fear their God.   

Of those that brand their Country with Disgrace,  
Noble in Title as in practise base,  
Give underhand Pre-eminence of place,  
The snivelling Representer of the rest,  
Who in their Names the Monarch thus addressed:   

Most Glorious Prince, in whom all virtues shine,  
Where every worth in one great Soul combine;  
You for your Gracious Deeds we come to bless,  
But most of all your constancy confess;  
Safe by your Word, in Peace your people sleep,  
Your sacred Word which you so nicely keep;  
That word so much throughout your Land renowned,  
In which Equivocation ne'er was found.  
On this it is so firmly we rely,  
You cannot ask the thing we can deny;  
As Heaven has taught the Soul of men to know,  
What e're it pleaseth to dispense below,  
Shall to advantage of believers tend,  
And bless their blind Obedience in the end;  
So we such aweful Thoughts of you receive,  
What e're you'll do we for our good believe;  
Our grand Ambition is our King to please,  
We ne'er can want Repose while he's at Ease.  
When by Obedience we have given you rest,  
And blasted even the frightful Name of Test,  
But smile upon us, and your Slaves are blessed.   

Thus spake the fawning Minister of State,  
Poor in Esteem, and despicably Great;  
The Monarch blessed the Priesthood skill,  
Forsakes his Reason to perform his Will,  
Deserts his Noble Friends for flattering Knaves,  
Neglects his Subjects whilst he favours Slaves.   

Rise up, brave Prince, attend your Natures Course,  
We know thats Noble, when exempt from force;  
Spread your relenting Arms, embrace your Friends,  
They'll help you to attain more Noble Ends;  
You know their Love, the Rebels know their Force,  
Serve God with speed, annul th' unjust Divorce,  
Then shall you stand great in your Peoples Love,  
A lively Emblem of the Mighty Jove.  
Then shall your haughty Rival cease to soar,  
And tremble at the neighbouring british shore;  
The Senates Bounty shall preserve you still,  
With cheerful Tribute all your Coffers fill.  
All Kings shall gaze with Envy on your Throne,  
Then with Contempt look down upon their own;  
To gain your smiles shall be their utmost Pride,  
And happy he who nearest is allied.  
beloved by God and Men you shall remain,  
Great without War, and undisturbed your Reign.  
Then when the Remnant of your days are done,  
The thread of Glorious Life at length is spun,  
Sincere in Grief your people all shall mourn,  
Some goodly fabric shall your Grave adorn  
With this Inscription, for Eternal Praise,  
Here lies the only Prince who left all Evil Ways.    

The VISION.  

TWas at an hour when busy Nature lay  
dissolved in slumbers from the noisy Day,  
When gloomy shades and dusky Atoms spread  
A darkness over the Universal Bed,  
And all the gaudy beams of light were fled;  
My fluttering fancy' midst the silent peace,  
Careless of sleep, and unconcerned with ease,  
Drew to my wandring thoughts an object near,  
Strange in its form, and in appearance rare.  
Methought( yet sure it could not be a Dream,  
So real all its Imperfections seem)  
With Princely Port a stately Monarch came,  
Airy his mein, and Noble was his frame:  
A sullen sorrow brooded on his Brow;  
He seemed beneath some weighty Fate to bow;  
Distrust and Grief upon his Eye-lids rest,  
And show the struggling troubles of his Breast.  
Upon his Head a nodding Crown he wore,  
And in his Hand a yielding sceptre bore;  
Forlorn and careless did his stroke appear,  
And every motion spoken a wild Despair.   

This mournful Scene did all my Passions move,  
And challenged both my pity and my love,  
And yet I thought him by the ruins made  
Above my pity, and beyond my aid;  
Long did he in a pensive silence stand,  
For sure his thoughts could not his words command:  
Too big for speech—  
Till sullen murmurs from his bosom flew,  
And thus a draft of his disorders drew.   

Almighty Powers! By whose consent alone  
ordained, I did ascend the Regal Throne,  
lead by your dark Decrees, and Conduct there,  
I, as your great Vicegerent, did appear  
Beneath my charge, whilst crowding Nations sate,  
And bowed and did admire my rising Fate:  
'twas then my Laurels fresh and blooming grew,  
And a loud famed of all my Glories flew;  
My willing Subjects bless and clap the day;   

The bravest and the best were all my friends,  
Whilst Faction in confusion sneaked away;   

At distance grinn'd, but could not reach their ends.  
Such Faith unto my promises were shown,  
My Word they took, for Oaths were useless grown;  
My very Word composed their hopes and fears,  
Sacred 'twas held, and all Serene appears:   

Until my Fate reversed did backward reel,  
blurred all my famed, and altered Fortune's Wheel;  
Ye Gods! Why did ye thus unconstant prove?  
Was I the Envy of th' Abodes above?  
Or was this stately Majesty but given  
To be the Cheat and flattery even of Heaven?  
Can never a Saint implore celestial aid?  
Nor yet the Virgin Goddess intercede?  
'twas for her Cause engaged I suffering lye;  
'twas to advance her just Divinity:  
Yes, I avow the Quarrel and the Cause,  
'twas for my Faith, and to out-cope the Laws.  
I'd rather be forsaken and alone,  
Than sit a craving Monarch on a Throne:  
Let all my cringing Slaves at distance stand,  
Fawn on th' Invading Foe, and kiss his Hand;  
Leave me their Prince, forsaken and forlorn,  
exposed to all their sleights and public scorn.  
Let after Ages judge the mighty Test,  
Judge the magnific grandeur of my breast.  
I saw my great forefather yet afore  
Seal all his Sacred Vows with martyred gore;  
His Royal Issue branded with disgrace,  
Saw all th' Efforts they used t' Exclude the Race:  
And yet these terrors all I dare invade,  
Thus Conscience, thus Religion does persuade.  
I'll stand or fall by both those Tenets still,  
And be the second Martyr to my Will:  
And then he stopped, his fiery Eye-Balls move,  
And thus with his resisting Fate he striven,  
And stood, like Capaneus Defying Jove.   

When streight a noise, from whence it came unknown,  
Was heard to answer in an angry tone;  
Die then, unpity'd Prince, for thus thy Fate  
Long since, by its Decrees, did antedate:  
To such perverseness, what regard is shown?  
What Merit couldst thou pled to mount a Throne?  
To thy repeated Wishes heaven was kind,  
And pleased the wild Ambition of thy mind;  
It put a sceptre in thy eager Hand,  
Yet not t' oppose the Genius of the Land;  
If Reason could not sway thy Actions here,  
Heaven's not obliged by Wonders to appear.   

See how thy Creatures at a distance stand,  
antimonarchical from thy troubles to a safer Land;  
Those who their beings to thy bounty own,  
Forsake their fawning Cheats, and now are gone.  
Those who were Friends to thee and to thy Cause,  
Bold for their Rights, and for their Countries Laws,  
Thou, from thy darker Counsels, didst remove,  
And want their aid, now they refuse their love.   

Some more imperfect sounds did reach my ear,  
But sense return'd, and day-light did appear.    

The ADVICE.  

WOuld you be Famous and renowned in Story,  
And after having run a Stage of Glory,  
Go streight to Heaven and not to Purgatory:  
This is the time.   

Would you surrender your Dispensing Power,  
And sand the Western Hangman to the Tower,  
From whence he'll find it difficult to scour.  
This, &c.   

Would you sand Father P-n, and Father L—,  
Assisted by the Poet laureate Squab,  
To teach Obedience Passive to the Mob.  
This, &c.   

Would you let Reverend Father Peters know  
What thanks the Church of England to him owe  
For Favours past, he did on them bestow.  
This, &c.   

Would you with expedition sand away  
Those four dim Lights, made Bishops t'other day,  
To convert Indians in America.  
This, &c.   

Would you the rest of that Bald-Pated Train  
No longer flatter with thin hopes of Gain,  
But sand them to Saint Omers back again.  
This, &c.   

Would you( instead of holding Birchen tool)  
sand Pulton to be lashed at Busbey's School,  
That he in Print no longer play the Fool.  
This, &c   

Would you that Jack of all Religions scar,  
Bid him for Hanging speedily prepare,  
That Harry H— s may visit Harry Care.  
This, &c.   

Would you let Ireland no more fear Macdonnel,  
And all the Rabble under Philem O neal,  
And Clarendon again succeed Tyrconnel.  
This, &c.   

Would you court Ear-wiggs banish from your Ears,  
Those Carpet-Knights, and interested Peers,  
And rid the Kingdoms from impending Fears.  
This, &c.   

Would you at once make all the Hogan Mogans yield,  
And be at once their terror and our Shield,  
And not appear by Proxy in the Field.  
This, &c.   

Would you no more a Womans Council take,  
But love your Kingdoms for your Kingdoms sake,  
Make Subjects Love and Enemies to Quake.  
This, &c.    

The CONVERTS.  

I Did intend in rhymes heroic  
To writ of Converts apostolic,  
Describe their persons and their shames,  
And leave the World to guess their Names:  
But soon I thought the scoundrel Theme  
●… as for heroic Song too mean;  
●… heir Characters we'll then rehearse   

Burlesque, or in doggerel Verse;  
●… f Earls, of Lords, of Knights I'll sing,  
●… hat changed their Faith to please their King.   

The first an Antiquated Lord,  
〈…〉 walking Mummy in a word,  
●… oyes clothed in plasters aromatic,  
●… nd Flannel, by the help of a Stick,  
●… nd like a grave and noble Peer,  
Outlives his Sense by Sixty year;  
And what an honest Man would anger,  
Outlives the Fort he built at Tanger;  
By Pox and Whores long since undone,  
Yet loves it still, and fumbles on:  
Why he's a Favourite few can guess,  
Some say it's for his Ugliness;  
For often Monsters( being rare)  
Are valued equal to the Fair:  
For in his Mistresses, kind James  
Loves ugliness in its extremes;  
But others say 'tis plainly seen,  
'tis for the choice he made o'th' Queen;  
When he the King and Nation blessed  
With Off-Spring of the House of east;  
A Dame whose Affability  
Equals her Generosity:  
Oh! Well matched Pair, who frugally are bent  
To live without the aids of Parliament.  
●… ll this and more the Peer performed,  
Then to complete his Virtues, turned;  
●… ut twas not Conscience, or Devotion,  
●… he hopes of Riches or Promotion,  
That made his Lordship first to vary,  
But 'twas to please his Daughter Mary;  
And she to make retaliation,  
Is ●ull as lewd in her Vocation.   

The next a Caravanish Thief,  
A lazy Mass of damned Rump Beef;  
Prodigious Guts, no Brains at all,  
But very Rhynocerical,  
Was Married ere the Cub was licked,  
And now not worthy to be kicked;  
By Jockeys bubbled, forced to fly,  
To save his Coat, to Italy,  
Where H— s and he, that virtuous Youth,  
Equal in Honour, Sense, and Truth;  
By Reason and pure Conscience urged,  
Past Sins by Abjuration purged:  
But 'tis believed both Rogue and Peer,  
More worldly Motives had to veer;  
The Scoundrel Plebeians swerving  
Was to secure himself from starving;  
And that which made the Peer a Starter,  
Was hope of a long wished for Garter.   

Next comes a Peer who sits at Helm,  
And long has steered the giddy Realm.  
With Taylors motion, mein, and grace,  
But a right Statesman in Grimace;  
The Sneer, the Cringe, and then by turns,  
The dully grave, the Frowns, and Scorns,  
Promises all, but nought performs:  
But howe'er great he's in Promotion,  
He's very humble in Devotion;  
With Taper light, and Feet all bare,  
He to the Temple did repair,  
And knocking softly at the Portal,  
cried, Pitty( Fathers) a poor Mortal,  
And for a Sinner make some room,  
A Prodigal returned home.  
Some say that in that very hour,  
Convert Mall Megs arrived at door;  
So both with penitent Grimace,  
States-man and Bawd with humble place  
entered and were received to grace.   

The next a Knight of high Command  
'Twixt London-bridge and Dover-Sand;  
A Man of strict and holy Life,  
Taking example from his Wife;  
He to a Nunnery sent her packing,  
Lest they should take each other napping.  
Some say L'Est— did him beget,  
But that he wants his Chin and Wit;  
Good natured, as you may observe,  
Letting his Titular Father starve;  
A Man of Sense and Parts, we know it,  
But dares as well be damned as show it;  
bribed by himself, his trusty Servant  
At Kings-Bench-Bar appeared most fervent  
Against his Honour for the Test,  
To him 'twas Gain, to all Mankind a Jest.   

Blue-Bonnet Lords a numerous store,  
Whose best Example is they're poor,  
merely drawn in, in hopes of Gains,  
And reap the scandal for their pains;  
Half-starv'd at Court with expectation,  
forced to return to their Sootch Station,  
despised and scorned by every Nation.   

A paltry Knight not worth a mention,  
renounced his Faith for piteous Pension;  
After upon True Protestant Whore,  
H'had spent a large Estate before.   

A thick short colonel next does come,  
With straddling Legs and massy Bum:  
With many more of shameful Note,  
Whose Honour ne're was worth a Groat.   

If these be Pillars of the Church,  
'tis feared they'll leave her in the lurch;  
If abler Men do not support her Weight,  
All quickly will return to Forty Eight.    

The humble Address of your Majesty's Poet laureate, and others your catholic and Protestant dissenting Rhymers, with the rest of the Fraternity of Minor Poets, inferior Versifiers and Sonnetteers of Your Majesty's Ancient Corporation of Parnassus.  
Humbly Sheweth,  

THat we your Majesty's poor slaves,  
Your merry Beggars, witty knaves,  
Being highly sensible how long  
And dull dry Prose addressing Throng,  
Have daily vexed your Royal Ears  
With fulsome speeches, canting Prayers,  
Unanimously think it better  
T' address your Majesty in metre.   

Great Sir, your healing Declaration  
Has cured a base distempered Nation;  
The Godly hug it for the ease  
It gives to squeamish Consciences;  
And by the Mammonists, 'tis made  
The grand encouragement of Trade;  
But we must reckon it( in our sense)  
A gracious poetic Licence.  
'tis your peculiar excellency,  
T' indulge Religion to a frenzy;  
And our Religion is our fancy:  
For which, we judge 'twould be a crime,  
Not to present our thanks in rhyme;  
We, with all Subjects of our mind,  
To pay, like us, their deuce in kind:  
That jealous Protestants would greet  
With Tests and Laws your Royal Feet;  
That all would sacrifice in course  
Their stubborn Consciences to yours;  
That th' Academies would oppose  
On no pretence your Royal Cause,  
But quit their Oaths and Founders Laws;  
That Corporations yield their Charters,  
And no more grudge your Souldiers Quarters;  
That Borough Towns would choose such Men,  
As you shan't need sand home again;  
That all right Members take their stations,  
Such as Sir Roger and Sir P—  
That your new Friends stand every where,  
Of which we recommend one pair,  
Honest Will Pen and Harry Care.  
Dissenters will with all their heart-a  
Vote for a Gospel Magna Charta;  
Your Judges too will overawe  
The poor dead letter of the Law,  
Your High Commissioners, from whom  
The obstinate receive their doom,  
For trusty catholics make room.  
Only one resty part o'th' Nation,  
would bound your power of dispensation;  
For which we'll bait the Rogues again,  
With second part of Hind and Pan:  
We'll rhyme 'em into better manners,  
And make them lower their Paper-Banners;  
Nor is this all that we will do,  
No, Sir, we'll pray like Poets too.   

May our great God Apollo bless you,  
May Juno help your budding issue;  
May you attempt no enemies  
To skirmish with but Butterflies:  
Nor exercise Your marshal Arms,  
But in mock-sieges, false alarms.  
May you have long and peaceful days,  
And may we live to sing your Praise;  
And after all, may you inherit  
The overplus of the Saints merit.    

The laureate. Jack Squabb, his History in little draw●… Down to his Evening, from his early down▪  

APpear thou mighty Bard, to open view;  
Which yet we must confess you need not do  
The labour to expose thee we may save,  
Thou stand'st upon thy own Records, a Knave;  
condemned to live in thy Apostate rhymes,  
The Curse of Ours, and Scoff of Future Times.  
Still tacking round with every turn of State  
Reverse to Sh— ry thy cursed Fate  
Is always at a change to come to late:  
To keep his plots from Coxcombs was his Care,  
His Policy was masked, and thine is bare:  
Wise Men alone could guess at his Design,  
And could but guess, the thread was spun so fine:  
But every pur-blind Fool may see through thine.  
Had Dick still kept the Regal Diadem,  
Thou hadst been Poet laureate to him,  
And, long ere now, in Lofty Verse proclaimed  
His high Extraction, among Princes famed;  
diffused his Glorious Deeds from Pole to Pole,  
Where Winds can carry, and where believes can roll.  
Nay, had our Charles, by Heavens severe Decree,  
Been found, and murdered in the Royal three,  
Even thou hadst praised the Fact; his Father slain,  
Thou call'dst but gently breathing of a Vein:  
Impious, and villainous! to bless the blow  
That laid at once three lofty Nations low,  
And gave the Royal Cause a fatal Overthrow.  
What after this could we expect from thee?  
What could we hope for, but just what we see?  
Scandal to all Religions, New and Old;  
Scandal to thine, where Pardon's bought and sold,  
And mortgaged Happiness redeemed for Gold:  
Tell me, for 'tis a Truth you must allow;  
Who ever changed more in one Moon, than thou?  
Even thy own Zimri was more steadfast known,  
He had but one Religion, or had none:  
What sect of Christians is't thou hast not known,  
And at one time or other made thy own?  
A Bristled Baptist bread; and then thy strain  
Immaculate, was free from sinful slain.  
No Songs in those blessed times thou didst produce  
To brand, and shame good manners out of use:  
The Ladies then had not one Bawdy Bob,  
Nor thou the Courtly Name of Poet Squab.  
Next, thy dull Muse, an Independent Jade,  
On sacred Tyranny five Stanza's made,  
praised Noll, who even to both extremes did run,  
To kill the Father, and dethrone the Son.  
When Charles came in, thou didst a Convert grow,  
More by thy Interest, than thy Nature so.  
Under his livening Beams thy Laurels spread;  
He first did place that wreathe about thy Head;  
Kindly relieved thy wants, and gave thee Bread.  
Here 'twas thou mad'st the Bells of Fancy chime,  
And choked the Town with suffocating rhyme.  
Till Heroes formed by thy Creating Pen,  
Were grown as cheap, and Dull, as other Men.  
flushed with success, full Gallery, and Pit,  
Thou bravest all Mankind with want of Wit.  
Nay, in short time, were't grown so proud a ninnie,  
As scarce t'allow that Ben himself had any.  
But when the men of Sense thy Error saw,  
They checked thy Muse, and kept the Termagant in awe.   

To satire next thy Talent was addressed,  
Fell foul on all, thy friends among the rest:  
Those who the oft'nest did thy wants supply,  
abused, traduced, without a reason why.  
Nay, even thy Royal Patron was not spared,  
But an obscene, a santring wretch declared.  
Thy Loyal Libel we can still produce,  
Beyond Example, and beyond Excuse.  
O strange return, to a forgiving King,  
But the warmed Viper wears the greatest Sting.  
Thy Pension lost, and justly without doubt,  
When Servants snarl, we ought to kick 'em out;  
They that disdain their Benefactors Bread,  
No longer ought by Bounty to be fed.  
That lost, the Vizor changed, you turn about,  
And straight a True-blue Protestant crept out;  
The friar now was writ; and some will say  
They smell a malcontent through all the Play.  
The Papist too was damned, unfit for Trust,  
called Treacherous, Shameless, Proffigate, Unjust,  
And Kingly Power thought Arbitrary Lust.  
This lasted till thou didst thy Pension gain,  
And that changed both thy Morals, and thy strain.  
If to writ Contradictions, Nonsense be,  
Who has more Nonsense in their Works than thee?  
We'll mention but thy Lay-mans Faith, and Hind,  
Who'd think both these( such clashing do we find)  
could be the product of one single mind:  
Here, thou wouldst Charitable fain appear,  
findest fault that Athanasius was severe;  
Thy Pity straight to Cruelty is raised,  
And even the pious Inquisition praised,  
And recommended to the present Reign:   

" O happy Countries, Italy and Spain!  
Have we not cause, in thy own words, to say,  
Let none believe what varies every day,  
That never was, nor will be at a stay.  
Once, Heathens might be saved, you did allow;  
But not, it seems, we greater Heathens now:  
The Loyal Church, that buoys the Kingly Line,  
damned with a breath, but 'tis such breath as thine:  
What credit to thy party can it be,  
T' have gained so lewd a Profligate as thee?  
strayed from our Fold, makes us but laugh, not weep;  
We have but lost what was disgrace to keep:  
By them Mistrusted, and to us a scorn;  
For it is weakness, at the best to turn.  
True, hadst thou left us in the former Reign,  
T' had proved, it was not wholly done for Gain;  
Now, the Meridian Sun is not so plain.  
Gold is thy God, for a substantial sum,  
Thou to the Turk, wouldst run away from Rome,  
And sing his Holy Expedition against Christendom.   

But to conclude, blushy with a lasting read,  
( If thou'rt not moved with what's already said)  
To see thy Boars, Bears, Buzards, Wolves and Owls,  
And all thy other Beasts, and other Fowls,  
Routed by two poor Mice:( Unequal fight)  
But easy 'tis to Conquer in the Right.  
See there a Youth( a shane to thy gray hairs)  
Make a mere Dunce of all thy threescore years.  
What in that tedious Poem hast thou done,  
But crammed all Aesops Fables into one.  
But why do I the precious minutes spend  
On him, that would much rather hang, than mend.  
No, Wretch, continue still just as thou art,  
Thou'rt now in this last Scene, that Crowns thy part;  
To purchase Favour, veer with every Gale,  
And against Interest never cease to rail;  
Tho thou'rt the only proof how Interest can prevail.    

The Vision of Toleration.  
LAst Night, when I myself to sleep had laid;  
Whilst bones did rest, my roving busy Head  
Methought, had strangely carried me from home,  
And I( the Lord knows how) was got to Rome;  
It happened to be on a public day,  
When Pope and Cardinals were met; not to pray,  
That's not their business, but to hold Debates,  
How to Rule Kings, and how to Govern States.  
Most strange Employments sure for Gospel Preachers,  
The Apostles were not Rulers, but Mens Teachers.  
When triple Crown had took St. Peter's Chair,  
( He little thought a Crown should e'er come there:)  
The rest to their respective seats repair;  
And the first matter they did fall upon,  
Was the Affairs of th' Isle called Albion:  
Methought an horned Legate did present  
In Parchment fair engrossed, a long complaint,  
Against the Monster called a Parliament:  
Which being softly red, Christ's Vicar cries,  
Who th' plague has opened these damned Her'ticks eyes?  
I thought the sugared promise at first made  
To them, would the believing Fools persuade  
Out of their Bread and Butter; but since jealous  
Of Privilege, and for their Church so zealous;  
Since we can't overturn this Impious Test,  
Of all methods beyond dispute the best:  
Since Shams won't take, What must the next be done,  
Against our Rival Church of Albion?  
His Reverend speech thus ended, whilst each min●…  
Was busied, some new Stratagem to find;  
Ere any spake, there strangely did appear  
One clothed in black, and stood before the Chair●…  
All Eyes upon him fixed, and all Tongues mute,  
With a feigned Voice he did them thus salute:  
Hail! Reverend Patriarch, and ye that are  
Worthy Assistants of St. Peter's Chair:  
I from the Author of your Faith am come,  
From him first placed th' unerring Chair in Rome;  
Who gave judicial power to pardon sins,  
And to Depose the Unbelieving Kings:  
Who you out of your senses does persuade,  
Not to discern Flesh, Blood, and Bones from Bread;  
Who is your Churches best Friend and Physician,  
To cure her Schisms by Holy Inquisition:  
Who taught you burning was the Remedy,  
Lawful to purge the Church from heresy:  
French Nero taught to manage Hugonaut:  
He who all your new Articles has taught;  
From him I come, and by Commission tell,  
Right Trusty and beloved, he greets you well;  
Extremely pleased with your great pains and care,  
T'increase his Kingdom, in this grand Affair  
Of Albion. It is his will and pleasure,  
That to perfect the Work, you take this measure;  
You know as well as he, that in that Nation,  
Are many Bastard-slips of th' Reformation;  
Who, with their Sister have been still at odds,  
Because( I wish 'twere true) she served your Gods.  
But seeing their mistake, they now begin  
To have a good opinion, and come in  
To her Communion; and she thereby  
Grows daily a more potent enemy.  
Now to prevent a Reconciliation,  
He bids declare an Act of Toleration;  
Let independent, Presbyter, and Quaker,  
With Anabaptist, Muggletonian, Seeker,  
Sweet Singer, Family of Love, Fifth-Monarchy;  
Give all these whimsy-heads their Liberty,  
They'll with each other fall at enmity:  
And all against the Church, confirmed by Law,  
Though for no other cause, but cause tis so.  
If you can but persuade them to Rebel,  
Th' King has an Army will make all things well;  
In these Directions Expeditious be,  
Your time's but short, J. R's past Fifty three.  
His well invented Speech thus having ended,  
He in a flash of Brimstone fire descended.  
They seeing him to vanish in that fashion,  
cried out, that 'twas a Divine Revelation.  
At which I wondered, for I did not know,  
Till then, that Roman Gods had dwelled below.  
First sight, I thought him Jesuit, but when  
I saw the Cloven-Foot concluded then  
He was th' old accuser of the Brethren.  
When they a while had on his Speech reflected,  
They all agreed 't should be as 'twas directed.  
One only, cried, more grave, and full of sense,  
We our designs must colour with pretence;  
We'll say 'tis tender Consciences to ease,  
And to preserve the Government in peace,  
Which all liked well; and bade, 'tshould be engrossed,  
And sent unto the Nuncio by the Post:  
After which order to the Secretary,  
They all concluded with an have Mary.   

On the Bishops Confinement.  
WHere is there Faith and Justice to be found 〈…〉  
Sure the World trembles, Nature's in 〈…〉 swoon  
To see her pious Sons designed to fall  
A victim to Religion; Truth, and all  
The charms of Piety are no defence  
Against the new-found power, that can dispense  
With Laws to murder sacred Innocence:  
Surely, unless some pitying God look down,  
And stem this torrent, it will down  
Divinity itself.—  
The Bishops Prisoners! Can we tamely see  
Those Reverend Prelates bow the knee  
To Antichrist? No, mighty Monarch, no,  
Though we must pay to Caesar what we owe,  
There is a power supreme, by which you live;  
Whose Arm is longer, and Prerogative  
Larger by far than yours; whose very word  
Can blast your hopes, and turn your two-edged sword●…  
Can make his Secular Vice-gerent know,  
Virtue, like Palms depressed, do higher grow.  
Though robbed in all the Grandeur of your State,  
Courtiers, like radiant Stars, about you wait:  
' Midst of your glorious joys, when you put on  
That aweful presence which becomes a Throne;  
Belshazzar like, three Words upon the Wall  
Shall blast your Joys, and make your Glories fall.  
His Holiness, that Patriot of strife,  
Though he can grant you Pardons, cannot Life.  
Arise then, Mighty Sir, in God-like mien,  
As of thy Valour, let thy Truth be seen;  
Free from mistrust, let all your words be clear;  
By actions, let your promises appear:  
Protect that Church which brought you to the Crown;  
You know 'tis great and honourable to own  
A kindness done; but to reward with death  
That happy instrument that gave you breath,  
Is mean, and might a Cath'licks Conscience sting,  
To cut the hand off that Anoints you King.   

The Last Will and Testament of Father Peters.  

I.  
IN his Holiness Name,  
With Amen I proclaim  
My last Will and Testament following:  
Who in body am well,  
But in mind monstrous ill;  
While in dismal despair I am wallowing.   

II.  
My Soul I bequeath,  
To the Regions beneath;  
It has long to the Devil been due:  
To be tortured in pain,  
More than I did ordain  
To inflict on the heretic Crew.   

III.  
My Body a Pledge,  
I give to the Sledge,  
To ride on't to Tyburn in state:  
And there in a Cart,  
Before I depart,  
All my villainous Actions relate.   

IV.  
When the Rout I've harrang'd,  
To submit to be hanged;  
And ere dead to be cut down and quartered:  
While each Blockhead and Whore  
Dips a Clout in my Gore,  
To proclaim to the World I am martyred.   

V.  
My politic Head  
With my Quarters when Dead,  
Each one to be perched on a Pole;  
Thus by prophetic Spirit,  
According to Merit,  
I've disposed of my Body and Soul.   

VI.  
And next I declare,  
Not to mention an Heir,  
My Executors wholly and full,  
To cut off all other,  
The Spark and his Mother,  
Who three politic Nations would guile.   

VII.  
My Funeral Charge,  
As it will not be large,  
So 'twill take up less room in my Will:  
But were it much more,  
Since I die on this score,  
They'll never be troubled with Bill.   

VIII.  
It may do 'em both good  
For all their High Blood,  
'tis Full Threescore thousand complete:  
As I got it by Fools,  
So I leave it to Tools,  
While the Church and Relations I Cheat.   

IX.  
My Books, tho' not many,  
For I never loved any,  
They may keep for their private Occasions;  
They're of Riddles and Dreams,  
From whence I took themes  
To furnish myself with Orations.   

X.  
The rest of my Stuff,  
Since they have enough,  
I Bequeath to a pretty young Sinner;  
'twill furnish a Room  
To practise at Home,  
And encourage a happy Beginner.   

XI.  
I'll not give 'em the Trouble  
To pay the Priests double,  
To fetch me from Purgatory:  
For that, like the rest  
Of our Creed, is a Jest;  
And as true as the Song of John Dory.   

XII.  
For if there's a Hell,  
I deserve it so well  
I need not despair of the Place;  
And none but an Ass  
Will believe that the Mass,  
Can ever restore him to Grace.   

XIII.  
I confess they are fools,  
Which our Church daily gulls,  
And particularly with this Nation:  
Such as when they do Pray,  
Know not one word they say,  
'tis their Ignorance helps their Devotion.   

XIV.  
But I am wide of my Text,  
Being damnably vexed  
To see how the Jesuits are fooled;  
And your prospects of peace  
Do my Torments increase,  
More than losing my Life and my Gold.   

XV.  
On our Brotherhood all  
May my last blessing fall,  
And on every Monk, Friar and Priest;  
May they ere 'tis too late  
Partake of my Fate,  
And become every heretics Jest.   

XVI.  
I would have enlarged,  
But my Conscience discharged,  
I'll here make an end of my Sermon,  
And wish all this Throng  
May be damned, Old and Young,  
And so drive away, Honest Carman.    

The Pope's WISH.  
To the Tune of the Old Mans's Wish.  

IF I wear out of date, as I find I fall down,  
For my Chair it is rotten, and shakes like my Crown;  
Tho I be an Impostor, may this be my doom,  
Let my Spiritual Market continue at Rome:   

May the words of my mouth the Nations betray,  
Till Monarchs and Princes my Sceptre obey;  
To feed on the fat, and the lean ones to flay:  
And the lean ones to flay.   

Tho my Birth be equivocal, I look like a Bear;  
My Tribe they be cloath●d with sackcloth and hair,  
( A Hypocrites habit, and fit to deceive)  
Let no man decipher the Pope for a knave.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

Tho my Actions be wicked, my Principles ill,  
May I be reputed his Holiness still;  
With the Keys on my Arm to chink like a Bell,  
And Conjure a Soul for Gold out of Hell.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

With a pair of Great Princes, both lazy and idle,  
The one to hold Stirrup, the other the Bridle;  
And when they have done, for their pains let em take  
A kick on the breech, and a stamp on the neck.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

May I be adored by better and worse:  
Let Kings kiss my to, and Mah'met mine A— e.  
May Pardons give price, and Indulgences sell,  
And every Opposer be turned into Hell.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

Let the spiritual Peddlers, the Priests tell a story,  
Of Limbus Infantum, and New Purgatory,  
T extinguish Sedition, and blow out Contention  
To work all my Miracles by apprehension.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

May the Church-men and Clergy ne're mary no●… Wed●…  
But hug the old Harlot that's cast in a Bed,  
Let the Friars with the Nuns commit Fornication,  
( If sin) tis but Venial, and sweet Recreation.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

May the Priests at Confession make a Virgin to fall▪  
And when she gets up, give her Pardon for all;  
Let Bawds have their Trade, and Whores have their pleasure▪  
To fill( with their fleshly) my Spiritual Treasure  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

And whate'er I do, or whate'er befalls me,  
He's a Spiritual Traitor, that Whoremonger calls me  
By Bell, Book, and Candle, I'll bar him from Glory  
And sand him to Hell, or at least Purgatory.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

Let the Saints at devotion make Prayers for the Dead,  
And least they misreckon, count all by a Bead.  
With Pictures in Churches, that people may pray  
To Idols composed of ston, Wood, and day.  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

With a Lamp Everlasting that burneth for ever,  
Of the poor Widows Oil, which providence give●… her;  
With St. Anthony's Fart, that he let in a frolic,  
Which smells like a Rose, and cures the Wind-colick  
May the words of my mouth, &c.   

Let people be cheated, a Wafer to take,  
And call it a God, tho baked in a Cake;  
Let them play their Devotion at Church on a fiddle;  
But never be so wise as to find out the Riddle.   

May none be so bold my words to despise,  
Till I dull all Mens ears, and hood-wink their eyes,  
And blind the whole World with fopperies and lies.    

The Protestant Litany.  

FRom Religion that's nonsense, and larded with lies;  
From shutting the cupboard, and chinking the Keys;  
From Light that ascendeth like smoke to the Skies;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From a Pope that's in Passion, and bendeth his Wits  
For Plots, and Conspiracies, digging of Pits;  
From a people that crameth their God in their Guts;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From Spain's Inquisition, and Scarlet attire;  
From zeal that is kindled with Faggot and Fire;  
From a Priest that Dispenseth his Pardons for Hire;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From Wine that's Converted to poison for blood;  
From the Dragon's breath, and venomous flood;  
From Babylon's Brats, and all the Beasts brood;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From a Feminine Pope, of the Epicene Gender,  
From Joan who did drink to the Devil her attender;  
From him who's of fopperies( for faith) the Defender;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From unprofitable Servants, who Heaven do merit,  
Who Preach the true Gospel, denying the Spirit;  
And think by their fool'ries Salvation t' inherit;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From a Queen clad in Scarlet, that looks like a Witch;  
From those who for Penance must whip their own Breech;  
From her that needs brimstone to cure her old itch;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From a Beast that is spotted, and snuffs up the Air,  
With a Mouth like a Lion, and Feet like a Bear;  
From Garments deceitful, composed of Hair;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From Beggars who're Rich, and beg for the poor;  
From Kings without Kingdoms, that Reign but an hour;  
From the Grape of Gomorrha, that's sweet, and yet sour;  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From lo the Coward, and Clement the Clown;  
From pus the wicked, that's veiled with a Gown;  
From fools out of fashion, and shaved in the Crown.  
Good Lord deliver us.   

From Roma diu titubans, ready to spew;  
From Locusts and Frogs, and Babylons crew;  
From the Prophet, or tail which the Stars backward drew;  
Good Lord deliver us   

From a Shepherd whose crook is knob'd like a Club,  
The one end to catch, the other to rub;  
And one who his Sheep of their Fleece does rob:  
Good Lord deliver us.    

A Character of Old England, in Allusion to a Piece of Tacitus de Vita Agricolae.  
THE Free-born English, generous and wise,  
Hate Chains, but do not Government despise:  
Rights of the Crown, Tribute and Taxes they  
When lawfully exacted, freely pay:  
Force they abhor, and wrongs they scorn to bear,  
More governed by their judgement than their fear;  
Justice with them is never held severe.  
Here Power by Tyranny is never got;  
Law may perhaps ensnare them, Force cannot.  
Rash Counsels here, have still the worst effect;  
The surest way to Rule, is to Protect.  
Kings are unsafe in their unbounded will,  
joined with the wretched Power of doing ill.  
Forsaken most, when they're most absolute;  
Laws guard the Man, and only bind the Brute:  
Those guardian Laws with force to undermine,  
Can never be a prudent Kings design.  
What King would change to be a catiline;  
Break his own Laws, shake an unquestioned Throne,  
Conspire with Vassals to Usurp his own?  
It's worthier some base Fav●rites pretence,  
To tyramnize at the wrong●d Kings expense.  
Let France grow proud, beneath the Tyrants lust,  
While the wreckt people crawl, and lick the dust.  
The mighty Genius of this Isle, disdains  
Ambitious slavery, and Golden Chains.  
England to slavish Yoke did never bow.  
What conquerors ne're presumed, who dare do now?  
Roman nor Norman never did pretend  
To have enslaved, but made this Isle their friend.   

Advice to the Prince of Orange, and the Packet-Boat returned.  Adv. 
THE year of wonder now is come,  
A Jubilee proclaim at Rome;  
The Church has pregnant made the Womb.  Pac. 
No more of the admired year,  
No more of Jubilee declare;  
All Trees that blossom do not bear.  Adv. 
Orange give o'er your hopes of Crowns,  
And yield to France the belgic Towns;  
And keep your Fleet out of the Downs.  Pac. 
We'll wait for Crowns, not Interest quit,  
Let Lewis take what he can get;  
And do not you proscribe our Fleet.  Adv. 
Ye talk of Eighty Men of War,  
Well rigged and manned you say they are;  
'twas joyful News when it came here.  Pac. 
Well may the sound of Eighty Sail,  
Make England's greatest Courage fail;  
When half the number will prevail.  Adv. 
But we have some upon the Stocks,  
And others laid up in our Docks;  
Well fitted out, would match your Cocks.  Pac. 
Tack not as if you'd match our Cocks,  
And Launch your few Ships on the Stocks;  
And if you can, secure your Docks.  Adv. 
Besides, we've called our Subjects home,  
Which in your Fleet and Army rome,  
But you, they say, won't let them come.  Pac. 
Your Subjects, in our Camp and Fleet,  
Whom you with Proclamation greet,  
Will all obey, when they think fit.  Adv. 
Souldiers and Seamen both we need,  
Old England's quiter out of the breed;  
Feather and Scarf won't do the dead.  Pac. 
Of Men and Arms never despair,  
The civilized wild Irish are  
courageous even to Massacre.  Adv. 
Now, if you'd be Victorious made,  
Like us, on Hounslow Masquerade;  
Advance your Honour, and your Trade.  Pac. 
Then take this Counsel back again,  
Leave off to mimic in Campaign,  
And fight in earnest on the Main.  Adv. 
Buda we stormed, and took't with ease;  
Do you the same upon the Seas,  
And then we'll meet you when you please.  Pac. 
The storming Buda does declare,  
That you the glorious Off-spring are,  
Of them that made all Europe fear:  Adv. 
Such Warlike Actions will at least  
Inspire each neighbouring Monarchs breast,  
Till Lewis shall complete the rest.  Pac. 
Such Camp, such Siege, and such shame shows,  
Make each small State your power oppose,  
And Lewis led you by the Nose.   

The hieroglyphic.  
COme Painter, take a prospect from this Hill,  
And on a well-spread Canvas show thy Skill:  
Draw all in Colours as they shall appear,  
And as they stand in merit place them there.  
Draw, as the Heralds do, a spacious Field;  
And, as directed, so let that filled.  
First, draw a Popish Army brisk and gay,  
Fighting, and beat, destroyed, and run away.  
Then draw a Hearse, and let it stand in view,  
The Mourners more, far more than they're in show,  
Cursing their Fate, their Stars, and in that fear,  
show, if thou canst, how those damned Sots prepare  
To run, or stay and skulk in holes alone:  
By them, this Motto, Gallows claim thy own.  
Now, to the Life, let thy brisk Pencil show  
Distinctly what they are, and what's their due.  
Now draw a crowd of Priests prepared to run,  
Like broken Merchants when their stock is gone;  
Some howling out their Prayers, forget and say,  
Save us St. catch: Are all our Saints away?  
Draw them in hurry, running to and fro,  
Posting to Dover, Portsmouth, Tyburn too.  
Next draw a crowd of Lords. This Label by,  
The great Design is lost. Alas, they cry,  
Who'd serve a Cause of such cursed Destiny?  
Now draw four Priests, show how they Rome adore,  
And each mans Scarf hang to be seen before.  
Two brace of Bishops, fallen to despair,  
armed cap-à-pie, but running God knows where.  
Now show the Judges, and with them thy skill,  
That all who see it done, may say, 'tis well;  
In Caps and Gowns, as they in order sate  
'Twixt Heaven and Earth do thou them elevate;  
For their grave Noddles can dispense with that.  
Now draw the little Rogues, the Scoundrel Crew,  
Knights, Knaves, and Beggars, they must have their due,  
G-db-ry, B ler, ay, and others too.  
amid thus crowd, on a fit spot of Land,  
To crown the work, let a large Gallows stand;  
All trembling by, armed with their guilt and fears,  
Kneel to this Image, and pour out their Prayers,  
And then die by Suffocation.   

To the ten Dispensing Judges.  
dignified things, may I your leaves implore,  
To kiss your hands, and your high Heads adore;  
Judges you are, but you are something more.  
May I draw near, and with a rough-hew'd Pen,  
Give a small draft of you, the worst of men:  
Tell of your merits, and your mighty skill,  
And how your Charms all Courts of Justice fill.  
Your Laws, far stronger than the Commons Votes,  
So finely flow from your Dispensing Throats.  
What Rome will ask, you must not her deny:  
If Hell command you too, you must comply.  
There's none but you would in this Cause combine,  
Things made like men, but act like brutes and swine.  
Law-books are trash, a Student he's a Drudge:  
Learn to say, Yes, he's an accomplished Judge;  
He wins the Scarlet rob, and wears it too:  
Ay, and deserves it well, for more's his due;  
All that completes a traitor dwells in you.  
Thus you like Villains to the Benches get;  
And in defiance to the Laws, you sit,  
And all base actions that will please commit:  
There must you toil for Rome, and also try  
Your Irish Sense, and Cobweb Policy,  
complete your Crimes; and then you're fit to die.  
True Loyal Babes! Pimps to the Church of Rome,  
Tresilian's Heirs: Heirs to his crimes and doom.  
Was e'er the Hall filled up with such a Brood,  
All dipped in Treason, villainies or Blood:  
Worse than fanatic Priests, for they being prest  
By a wise Prince, preached to Repeal the Test.  
Then here's the difference, 'twixt you Popish Tools,  
You're downright Rogues, they only Knaves and Fools.   

Religious relics: Or, the Sale at the Savoy, upon the jesuits breaking up their School and chapel.  

I.  
LAst Sunday, by chance,  
I encountered with Pr— e,  
That Man of upright Conversation,  
Who  told me such News,  
That I could not choose  
But laugh at his sad Declaration.   

II.  
Says he, if you'll go,  
You shall see such a show,  
Of relics exposed to be sold,  
Which from sin and disease,  
Will purge all that please  
To lay out their Silver and Gold.   

III.  
strait with him I went,  
Being zealously bent,  
Where for sixpence the man let me in;  
But the Crowd was so great,  
I was all in a Sweat,  
Before the rare show did begin:   

IV.  
The Curtain being drawn,  
Which I think was of Lawn,  
The Priest crossed himself thrice, and bowed;  
Then with a four Face,  
Denoting his case,  
He addressed himself thus to the Crowd:   

V.  
You see our sad State,  
'tis a folly to prate,  
Our Church and our Cause is a-ground;  
So in short, if you've Gold,  
Here is to be sold  
For a Guinea the worth of ten Pound.   

VI.  
Here's St. James's Old Bottle,  
It holds just a Pottle,  
With the Pilgrims Habit he wore;  
The same Scollop Shells,  
As our Holy Church tells,  
Who denies it's a Son of a w—   

VII.  
Here's a piece of the Bag,  
By Age turned to a Rag,  
In which Judas the Money did bear;  
With a part of his Rope,  
bequeathed to the Pope,  
As an Antidote 'gainst all Despair.   

VIII.  
Here's a Ri●ar of St. Laurence,  
'tis also at Florence,  
And it may be in France, or in Spain;  
It cures ston and Gravel,  
And Women in travail,  
And delivers without any pain.   

IX.  
Here's St. Joseph's Old Coat,  
Though scarce worth a Groat,  
It's plainness does show he'd no Pride;  
Yet this he had on,  
For besides it he'd none,  
The day that he married his Bride.   

X.  
His Breeches are there,  
A plain Leather pair,  
Come buy the whole svit, if you please;  
They'll defend you from th' Itch,  
From Hag, and from Witch,  
And preserve you from bugs and from pleas.   

XI.  
Here's the gull of a Saint,  
For such as do faint,  
Or are troubled with Fits of the Mother;  
Nay, if your breath stink,  
Worse than Close-stool or Sink,  
It will cure you as soon as the other.   

XII.  
Here's a Prayer of Pope John,  
The like to't is none,  
If you say it but three times a year;  
Three hundred in Grace,  
And three hundred 'twill place  
In Heaven, if they ever come there.   

XIII.  
Here's our Ladies old show,  
Which in Old time was new,  
It will cure all your Kibes and your Corns;  
With the Coif of St. Bridget,  
To be worn by each Idiot,  
Whose Head is tormented with Horns.   

XIV.  
Here's a bottle of Tears,  
preserved many years,  
Of Mary's that once was a Sinner;  
Some o'th' Fish and the Bread,  
That the five thousand fed,  
Which our Saviour invited to Dinner.   

XV.  
Here's St. Francis own Cord,  
You may take't on my word,  
Who dies in it cannot be damned;  
Do but buy it, and try,  
If I tell you a lie,  
Many thousands of Heaven are shammed.   

XVI.  
Here's his Holiness's beard,  
Of whom you have heard,  
That the heretics called Pope Joan;  
Yet this I dare swear,  
Was his natural Hair,  
Or else I'll be sworn he had none.   

XVII.  
It's virtue is such,  
That if it does touch  
Your Head, or your Face, or elsewhere,  
It does straightway restore,  
More than e're was before,  
Though by Age or by Action worn bare.   

XVIII.  
Here's St. Christopher's Boot,  
For his Right Leg and Foot,  
Which he wore when he plied at the Ferry,  
When on's shoulders he bore  
His blessed Lord o'er,  
For the poor man had never a Wherry.   

XIX.  
Such as sail on the Seas,  
I am sure it will please,  
For its parallel never was found;  
Neither Tempest nor Storm,  
Can e'er do them harm,  
Nor is't possible they should be drowned.   

XX.  
Here's infinite more,  
I have by me in store,  
All which lie concealed in this Hamper;  
Either buy them to day,  
Or I'll throw them away,  
For to morrow, by Heaven, I'll scamper.   

XXI.  
Our Market is done,  
We must shut up at Noon,  
We expect them each hour at the Door;  
We are hanged if we stay,  
And we can't get away,  
For none will, nor dare carry us o'er.   

XXII.  
But by th' Faith of a Priest,  
This is no time to jest,  
Since we are baulked in our great Expectation;  
Before I will swing,  
Like a Dog in a string,  
I'll Renounce the Transubstantiation.    

Private Occurrences: Or, the Transactions of the four last Years. Written in Imitation of the Old Ballad of Hey brave Oliver, Ho brave Oliver, &c.  

I.  
A Protestant Muse, yet a Lover of Kings;  
On th'Age, grown a little satirical, sings,  
Of Papists, their Counsels, and other fine things.  
Sing hey brave Popery, horare Popery, oh fine Popery,  
Oh dainty Popery, oh.   

II.  
She hopes she offends no Englishman's patience;  
Tho Satyr's forbid on all such occasions,  
She's too good a subject to red Declarations.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

III.  
If the saying be good, of Let him laugh that Wins,  
Sure a loser may smile without any offence;  
My Muse then is gamesome, and thus she begins;  
With hey brave Popery, &c.   

IV.  
When Ch— deceased, to his Kingdoms dismay,  
By an apoplexy, or else some other way:  
Our brother with shouts was proclaimed the same day.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

V.  
His first Royal promise was never to touch  
Our Rights, nor Religion, nor privilege grudge:  
But Pet— swore Dam him, he granted too much.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

VI.  
Then Mon— came in with an Army of Fools,  
betrayed by his cuckolded, and other dull Tools,  
That painted the Turf of Geen Sedgmore with Gules.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

VII.  
That Victory gotten, some think to our wrong,  
The Priests brayed out Joy in a Thanksgiving Song,  
And Teague with the Bald-pates were at it ding dung.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

VIII.  
Then strait a strong Army was levied in hast,  
To hinder Rebellion; a very good Jest,  
For some Rogues will swear 'twas to murder the Test.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

IX.  
A politic Law which Recusants did doom,  
That into our Senate they never might come;  
But Equivalent since, was proposed in its room.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

X.  
As if a true Friend should in kindness demand  
A Tooth in my Head, which firmly doth stand,  
To give for't another he had in his Hand.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XI.  
Then Term after Term, this great matter was weighed,  
Old Judges turned out, and new Block— ds made;  
That Cook or wise Littleton never did red.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XII.  
The good Ch of England with speed was run down,  
Whose Loyalty ever stood fast to the Crown;  
And Presbyter John was made Mayor of the Town.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XIII.  
The Bishops Disgrace made the Clergy to sob:  
A Prey to Old Pet— and President Bob;  
And hurried to Prison as if they did Rob.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XIV.  
Then into the world a dear P— of w— slipped;  
'twas plain, for we hear a great Minister peeped:  
The Bricklayer for prating had like t'a been whipped.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XV.  
Thus England's distresses more fierce than the Plague,  
That during three years, of no Quiet could brag.  
The Prince Van Auraignia has brought from the Hague.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XVI.  
A strong Fleet and Army t'Invade us are bent;  
We know not the Cause, tho there is something in't:  
But we doubt not, e're long we shall see it in Print.  
Sing hey brave Popery, &c.   

XVII.  
Ah England, that never couldst value thy Peace:  
Had matters been now as in Elsabeth's Days,  
The Dutch had ne're ventured to Fish in our Seas.  
Then Curse of Popery, pox o' Popery, plague o' Popery,  
Oh Senseless Popery, oh.    

On PURGATORY.  
WHen the Almighty first his Palace framed,  
That Glorious shining place he Heaven named;  
And when the first Rebellious Angels fell,  
He doomed them to a certain place called Hell.  
There's Heaven and Hell confirmed in sacred story,  
But yet I ne're could red of Purgatory:  
That cleansing place, which of late years is found,  
For sinning Souls to Flux in till they're sound.  
In imitation of which 'tis said,  
They have the Hummums and the Bagnio's made,  
Two Purgatories of a quicker Trade.  
There one days Sufferance cures the worst that comes,  
And thence they are released for easy Sums.  
Oh! Rome, for Price and Time thou'rt too severe,  
Keeping an honest Monarch in two year,  
That never yet deserved to come there.  
Priests found out this for good of human Race;  
Th' Almighty never thought of such a place.  
Oh! Rome, thou art a wise and learned Nation,  
To add a place wanting in Gods Creation.   

A Stanza lately put upon Tyburn.  
HAil Reverend Tripos, Guardian of the Law;  
Sacred to Justice, Treasons greatest awe!  
Do thou decide the Nations weighty Cause,  
And judge between the Judges and the Laws.  
So shall no guiltless blood thy Timber e're pollute,  
But Righteous Laws shall vouch all thou shalt execute.   

Harry cares last Will and Testament.  

NOT Hell itself, nor Gloomy Fate, can save  
The lewdest sinner from his destined Grave;  
But all the sooty Surges once must try,  
Old Charon's Boat's a certain Destiny.  
This Harry found, whose moldring Corps did call  
For physic props t'uphold the human Wall;  
Thinking himself to Ne plus ultra come,  
He thought of Winding Sheets, and of his Tomb:  
Summnn'd his glorious Kindred to appear,  
To see his last, and his last Will to hear,  
The Weeping Crowd the mournful Chamber fill,  
While he in dying Accents makes his Will.   

Imprimis, for my Soul( if such I have)  
I wish it butted with me in my Grave:  
For if what great Divines do preach and tell,  
Be real Verities of Heaven and Hell,  
Down to the gloomy Shores I surely go,  
The same I served above must serve below.   

And next, for my dear Wife, who Weeps my fall,  
And is chief Mourner at my Funeral;  
My sole Executrix I do here make,  
And let her all my Goods and Chattels take:  
Besides, my Province too let her command,  
That undiscovered lies in Fairy-Land.  
To her my unsold Pamphlets I bequeath,  
To buy her Brandy and Tobacco with:  
And if she do a Male or Stallion take,  
I hope he'll use her kindly for my sake;  
With equal Strength the Marriage-Yoke she'll draw,  
If he but drench her well with Usquebah.   

My Daughter next, the Off-spring of my Bed,  
I pour a double Blessing on her Head;  
The only Legacy I can bestow,  
And more than Heaven gave me here below:  
May she the Irish Witness wed, and raise  
A Race of Evidences for our Cause.   

And for those kinder Folks that propped my Pains,  
I freely leave them both my Pen and Brains:  
May they my little Artifices use,  
To raise up Factious, and the Crowd amuse,  
Till being doubly dipped in Infamy,  
Like me unpityed, and unenvy'd die.   

Now to the numerous Crowd that does survive,  
I only can my dying Counsel give:  
The Western Emissaries I approve,  
And even dying do declare my Love.  
I charge them to stand firm unto their Trust,  
Accounting what's their Interest, to be Just.  
The Females I commend to Brother Cox,  
Who if he cannot cure, can give the Pox;  
And may he still the vigorous warmth retain,  
T'impart to stroaling She in Street or Lane.   

I've nothing more to give to all the rest,  
But leave Ten Thousand Curses on the Test:  
And who do its Abolishing withstand,  
I leave upon them an Eternal Brand.  
And for the Penal Laws they like so well,  
I'll writ for their Repeal when I'm in Hell;  
And if damned Pluto's Laws are like to these,  
I'll quickly sue him out a Writ of Ease,  
I there will my Occurrence truly state,  
Whilst some Infernal L— kin Prints the Cheat;  
I Hells black Tyrant will both soothe and praise,  
And even in Sulp'rous Styx Sedition raise.    

A New SONG.  

would you be a Man of Favour?  
Wou'd you have your Fortune kind?  
Wear the across and eat the Wafer,  
And you'l have all things t' your Mind.  
If the Priest cannot convert you,  
Interest then must do the thing:  
There be Friars can inform you  
How to please a Popish King.   

Wou'd you see the Papist lowering,  
Lost in a hurry and a fright,  
And there Father Peters scouring,  
Glad of Times for happy Flight.  
Stay but till the Dutch are Landed,  
And the Show will soon appear;  
When th' Infernal Court's disbanded,  
Few will stay for Harbour here.    

A new Catch in praise of the Reverend Bishops.  
TRue Englishmen, drink a good Health to the Mitre;  
Let our Church ever Flourish tho her Enemies spite Her:  
May their Cunning and Forces no longer prevail,  
And their Malice, as well as their Arguments, fail.  
Then remember the Seven which supported our Cause,  
As Stout as our Martyrs, and as Just as our Laws.   

A new SONG.  
To the Tune of, Packintons Pound.  

TO our once Loyal Town, is lately come down,  
Such an Hodge-Podge of Benchers, as never wore Gown:  
Saints, fit for the Legend of Romes Pseudo-Martyrs,  
Who have pawned th' Old Religion, to purchase New-Charters;  
To promote public Faith, they are zealously bent,  
And Bugger Geneva to fructify Trent.  
When Satan was squeamish, and longed for a Dainty,  
The Pope Fricassed him this New Four-and twenty,   

II.  
The first a State-Jockey, bread up of a Groom,  
Twixt a Colchester-Mare, and a Stallion of Rome.  
He Cants when at Hollet's, on Hopkins his Metre,  
And drops Pater-Nosters with Lowick and Petre:  
Thus he Banters Non-Cons with profane Masquerade,  
And quacks on the Gospel to force a lost Trade.  
When Satan was squeamish, &c.   

III.  
The next Cacafugo, once a Captain of Peace,  
At the sight of could Iron he melts in his Grease;  
Yet he looks Indignation, and huffs like an Hector;  
He Whores like an Abbot, and drinks like a Rector.  
The third Nicodemus, a Seeker by Night; St.  
The 4th Father Whitebread, who halts for New Light.  
When Satan was squeamish, &c.   

IV.  
The fifth and the sixth, 
B. and A.  two precise Renegades;  
The one Jack of Diamonds, the other of Spades:  
For Orphans and Widows they beautify cloisters,  
And swallow their Houses, as Barnacle Oysters;  
But no Dish so fit when his Holiness treats,  
As an 
A great Italian Dish.  Oleopodrido of Zealots and Cheats.  
When Satan was squeamish, &c.   

V.  
Next formal Sir Foplin, who often has slunk, M.  
With a Tester at Rose's to purchase a Punk,  
But if Porter or Carman be possessed of his Doxy,  
He adopts his kind Hostess her spiritual Proxy.  
Thus a Puritan Lecher( though with a lewd Slut)  
May solace the Spirit, while the Flesh goes to Rut.  
When Satan was squeamish, &c.   

VI.  
Lo here 
Fat St. Lean Jeff.  Gog and Magog at once represent  
The profane Carnaval, and Idolatrous Lent;  
Both Teckelites true, as were 
Oa ts a rd mins in the Plot.  Titus and Eustace;  
The Guts of good Manners, and Garbage of Justice,  
But nothing more proper to vacuate Laws,  
Than the Mouth of Rebellion, and Rump of the Cause.  
When Satan was squeamish, &c.   

VII.  
Advance Ruffling Dick to supply the next place, C.  
Who on a bad Matter oft shams a worse Face:  
When the Algerine Caper has boarded his frigate,  
He can fawn like a Floater, and cringe like a Bigot.  
Well the good natured wittol may wink at his Fate.  
Since he that Cornutes him has bugger'd the State,  
When Satan was squeamish, &c.   

VIII.  
We'll refer Young Tertullus t' a Bill of Review,  
Lest he should Repeal what he never yet knew:  
His Worship we'll leave to his new Breviaries,  
till One Miserere's worth Ten Avemaries;  
For a Janus-like Convert, who in Faith interlopes,  
Like a Cordeliar-Friar, must be saved by his Ropes.  
When Sa●an was squeamish, and longed for a Dainty,  
The Pope Fricassed him this new Four-and twenty.    

A New Song of the Mayor being tossed in a Blanket, in the North.  
To the Tune of Packington's Pound.  

FRom the farthermost part of the North we have News  
Of a Man of some Note that received an Abuse:  
For a Dog to be tossed in a Blanket, 'tis known,  
But alas, what is that to the Mayor of a Town?   

For a great Magistrate  
To be used at that rate,  
All the World must allow  
It is very hard Fate.   

Ah! is it not strange? Amongst Wonders we rank it,  
That a Mayor of a Town should be tossed in a Blanket.  
Had a drunken Tom Tinker the Penance received,  
Or a Vintner for stumming his Wine, who'd have grieved?  
Had they bolted a Baker for making light Bread,  
Or a tailor for snipping a Yard for a Shred;   

Had it been but a Tapster  
For Nicking and Frothing,  
Wee'd been contented  
To take it for nothing.   

But as the Case stands, who, alas! don't resent it,  
And wish now 'tis done, that it might be prevented?  
Diogenes was said once to live in a Tub,  
But a Tenement of Blanket is such an odd Job  
For a Man of his Rank, we must study the Fact,  
Unless 'twas to mind him of the late Woollen Act.   

However 'twas unkind  
In the midst of his State,  
So to trouble his Thoughts  
With th' Approaches of Fate.   

For Men when advanced to the height of their Glory.  
Have something to dream on besides Purgatory.  
For a new Convert in relic to be wrapped.  
To secure him from Danger, it often has happ'd;  
But had this been such, in no story we find  
A Mayor to cut Capers like a Witch in the Wind;   

Sure there's something exceeding  
Must cause this extreme;  
Yet if we dare take it,  
As Old Wives do Dream,   

unadvised mistaking between waking and sleep,  
He pounded the person instead of his Sheep:  
So in that across Humour they were forced for to shake him,  
To show him his Error as soon as they waked him.   

But now, to conclude, ah! Heaven be thanked,  
The Mayor had no harm that was tossed in a Blanket.    

A New Song.  
Ho Brother Teague dost hear de Decree,  
Lilli Burlero Bullen a la,  
Dat we shall have a new Debittie,  
Lilli Burlero, Bullen a la,  
Lero, lero, lero, lero, lilli Burlero Bullen a la,  
Lero, lero, lero, lero, lilli bu●●●ro bullen a la.  
Ho by my should it is a T—,  
Lilli, &c.  
And he will cut all de English T—,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Though by my should de English do prat,  
Lilli, &c.  
De Law's on dare side, and Chrest knows what,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
But if dispense do come from de Pope,  
Lilli, &c.  
We'll hang Magno Carto and demselves in a Rope,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
And the good T— t is made a Lord,  
Lilli, &c.  
And he with brave Lads is coming aboard,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Who'! all in France have taken a swear,  
Lilli, &c.  
Dat day will have no Protestant h— r,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
O but why does he stay behind?  
Lilli, &c.  
Ho by my should 'tis a Protestant Wind,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Now T— l is come a-shore,  
Lilli, &c.  
And we shall have Commissions gillore,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
And he dat will not go to Mass,  
Lilli, &c.  
Shall turn out and look like an Ass,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Now now de heretics all go down,  
Lilli, &c.  
By Chreist and St. Patrick de Nation's our own,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
There is an old prophesy found in a Bog,  
Lilli, &c.  
That Ireland should be ruled by an Ass and a Dog,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.  
And now this prophesy is come to pass,  
Lilli, &c.  
For T— but's the Dog, and Tyr— nel's the Ass,  
Lilli, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

Tom tiler; or the Nurse.  

OLd Stories of a tiler sing,  
That did attempt to be a King:  
Our Age is with a tiler graced,  
By more preposterous Planets raised.  
His Cap with Jocky's matched together,  
turned to a Beaver and a Feather;  
His day transformed to Yellow Guilt,  
And Trowel to a Silver Hilt.   

His Lady from the Tiles and Bricks,  
Kidnap'd to Court in Coach and Six;  
Her Arms a sucking Prince embrace,  
( Whate'er you think) of Royal Race:  
A Prince, come in the neck of Time  
( blessed Dada! 'tis a Venial Crime  
That shall repeal our Breach of State,  
While all the World congratulate,  
Shall, like his Sire, suppress the Just,  
Raise Knaves and Fools to place of Trust;  
T— s and V— e, who sought his Fate,  
tilers and Macs, two Chits of State.  
But here, unhappy Babe, alas,  
I cannot but lament thy Case!  
That Thou, fed up with Rome's strong Meat.  
should long for Milk of heretic Teats!  
Among the Daughters was there none  
Worthy to Nurse a Monarch's Son,  
That Thou, in spite of all the Priests,  
Shoud'st long for Milk of heretic Breasts?  
But if thy Uncle, who before  
Was always right, changed the last hour,  
If thy undoubted Sire, so sage,  
declared i'th' Evening of his Age;  
Why shouldst not thou, Papist so soon,  
Be a staunch Protestant e're Noon?   

This said, the tiler laughed in's Sleeve,  
And took his Audience of Leave,  
The Prince who answered ne're a Word,  
That he should travail did accord;  
To Paris, sent to learn Grimace,  
To Swear and Damn with a Boon Grace.    

To the Haters of Popery, By what Names or Titles soever dignified or distinguished.  
THus 'twas of Old: then Israel felt the Rod,  
When they obeyed their Kings and not their God?  
When they went Whoring after other Loves,  
To worship Idols in new planted Groves.  
They made their Gods of Silver, Wood and ston,  
And bowed and worshipped them when they had don●  
And to complete their Sins in every way,  
They made 'em things called Priests; Priests did I say,  
A Crew of Villains more profane than they.  
Hence sprung that Romish Crew, first spawned in Hell.  
Who now in 'vice their Pedagogues excel;  
Their Church consists of vicious Popes, the rest  
Are whoring Nuns, and bawdy Bugg'ring Priests.  
A Noble Church; daubed with Religious Paint,  
Each Priest's a Stallion, every Rogue's a Saint.  
Come you that loathe this Brood: this murdering Crew,  
Your Predecessors well their Mercies knew.  
Take courage now, and be both bold and wise;  
Stand for your Laws, Religion, Liberties,  
You have the odds, the Law is still your own,  
They're but your Traytors, therefore pull them down;  
They struck with fear for to destroy your Laws  
There, raving mad, you see they fix their paws,  
Because from them they fear their fatal fall,  
And by them Laws they know you'l hang them all:  
Then keep our Laws, the Penal and the rest,  
●… nd give your Lives up e'er you give the Test.  
●… nd thou great Church of England hold thy own,  
●… orce you they may, otherwise give up none,  
●… obbers& thieves must pay for what they've done.  
●… et all thy mighty Pillars now appear  
●… eal●us and brave, voided both of hate and fear:  
That Popish Fops may grin, lye cheat and whine;  
And curse their Faith, while all admire thine.  
●… nd thou brave Oxford, Cambridge, and the rest,  
●… reat Hough and Fairfax, that durst beard the Beast.  
●… et all the Just with thanks record their name  
●… n standing Pillars of immortal famed.  
Let God arise, and his Enemies perish   

Protestantism revived: or the Persecuting Church Triumphing.  

IN Sable Weeds I saw a Matron clad,  
Whose Looks were grave, whose Countenance was sad,  
Pensive with care, she musing sate alone,  
Her State too too unhappy to bemoan;  
Deep bitter pangs I saw her undergo,  
And pay the tributary drops of woe,  
So wept Ducalion when he saw the State  
And face of Nature changed and desolate.  
By this dumb Elegy a while sh' expressed  
The gloomy sorrows of her troubled breast.  
Then heaving up her head, she silence broken,  
And with a heavy sigh dejected spoken.  
Good God! what grief surrounds my aged head!  
What new distracting woes I daily wed!  
Who am by spiteful Foes in triumph lead:  
They pierce my side with wound, they break my rest,  
And snatch my sucking Children from my breast:  
My elder Sons inhumanly they treat,  
My weaker ones they bubble with Deceit.  
Thus they insult, thus put me to disgrace,  
And spit their frothy Venom in my face:  
My growing sorrows to complete the more,  
I'm flouted by a Babylonish Whore.  
Put me to death they can't, since heaven decreed  
I must not die, though with my Saviour bleed,  
But humbly should in after-times succeed:  
What most my anxious Soul tormented hath,  
●… s, he that should defend, betrays my Faith.  
Thus, thus abused, I'm to all Griefs betrayed,  
Thus my Delights are double Sorrows made.  
Who e'er was curbed by such a Concubine?  
Who so perplexed? was ever grief like mine?   

Then she bowed down her head, and with her tears  
bedewed the parched Earth: when streight appears  
A Comforter by pitying Heaven sent  
To raise her drooping Spirits almost spent:  
Who when he had respectful Homage paid,  
●… n terms obliging reverently said,   

Mother, I know the cause of all thy Grief,  
●… 'm sent thy Succour, and thy true Relief:  
Thy God has heard thy Sighs, thy faithful Prayers,  
And graciously received thy slowing Tears:  
●… 'll wipe them off, I'll rugged Grief expel,  
And usual Joy shall in thy countenance dwell:  
●… 've made thy haughty Domineerers bow,  
And own their Lives they to my bounty owe:  
●… 've foiled them all, I have disarmed them quiter,  
They have the power to bark, but not to bite.  
To ease your pain, by th' God of heaven I'm sent,  
He acts, and I'm the honoured Instrument.   

Then she arose, Joy smiling in her Eye,  
And with a cheerful Voice did thus reply:  
Thanks gracious God, thanks thou Victorious Son,  
By whom I have my wonted Glory won:  
rejoice my Sons, and Hallelujahs sing  
Unto our Saviour, our Triumphant King.  
For I an Anthem will compose, and then,  
We'll sweetly sound it to our God. Amen.    

A View of the Religion of the Town: or a Sunday Mornings Ramble.  

ON Saturday night we sate late at the Rose,  
Carousing a glass to our Wives Repose,  
After our usual Mode;  
Till we dank so long,  
That Religion came on,  
For we were full of the God.  
At Pro and Con  
We held till One,  
And then we agreed in the Close  
To let Wording alone,  
And Ramble the Town,  
To see how Religion grows.   

II.  
We began at the Church of Saint Peter,  
Whose Prebends make many Mouths water,  
Religion did here,  
Like Grave Matron appear,  
Neat, but not gaudy, like courtesan Rome,  
Plain, but no Slut like your Geneva Dame.  
She hath on an old Stuff,  
With a Primitive Ruff,  
And round the Seam of her rest,  
In Musick-Notes scrawl'd all over,  
Loyalty expressed she bore,  
By which at her Church we guessed.   

III.  
At the Tombs we did peep,  
Where the Kings were asleep,  
And the Choire melodiously chanted,  
Without any concern,  
As we could discern  
Of being Be-Quo-warranted.  
And we fancy, at the last cast( Sir)  
When among the rest  
They come to the Test,  
Saint Peter will deny his Master.   

IV.  
Then shifting our Protestant Dress,  
To the Royal chapel we press,  
Where Religion was fine indeed,  
But with Facings and Fringings,  
With Crossings and Cringings,  
Entirely run up to Seed.  
Good God, what distraction there reigned,  
Where Union in Worship was feigned!  
For I spied a poor Maid  
Just come to the Trade,  
( For I fancy she was but a Learner)  
Who was but at most( Sir)  
Half through Pater-Noster,  
When the Priest was at Amen-Corner.   

V.  
Not an Irish-mans Breeches has half the Petitions  
We saw put up there for various Conditions,  
Sent to the blessed Maid  
With Care and with Speed,  
And she soon had a Fellow-feeling,  
For she was not far off,  
But got up aloff,  
Most curiously drawn on the Ceiling  
By the Royal command;  
Where Verrio's great Hand  
( Such to the Saints is his Love)  
To the Virgin has given  
As glorious a Heaven,  
As that she enjoys and reigns in above.  
Whether like the Rogue drew her,  
They can tell best that knew her,  
Tho most men are apt to conjecture,  
When he drew the blessed Maid  
( Moral Fancy to aid)  
His Mistress sat for the Picture.   

VI.  
Then, bidding farewell to their Goddess and them,  
We put in at the Savoy, or New Amsterdam,  
Not to find our Religion, but to see some odd Sights  
To which Father Corker's chapel invites.  
As in ours sometimes we placed Saints and Martyrs,  
So this Holy Room was surrounded with Traytors,  
In Halters there hung,  
Just so as they swung,  
Saint Coleman, and most of the Gang( Boy)  
And wa'n't it for something  
That's just next to nothing,  
Perhaps there had hung our new Envoy.    

The Papists Exaltation, on His Highness the Prince of Orange, His Arrival in London.  

NOw, now, the Prince is come to Town,  
The Nations Dread and Hope;  
Who will support the Church and Throne,  
Against the Turk and Pope.  
The Folks are fled that were the Head,  
The prop of Popery,  
If all be true as it's said:  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

The Queen with her Adopted Heir,  
Is on her way to Rome;  
And all Undone, has left us here,  
To end the Dance at home:  
The Holy Fathers too are flown,  
Saint Petre Gregory,  
And if our Cause should once go down,  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

Sk—, Sh—, fled for fear,  
Have rendered up the Keys;  
And now our Magazine of War  
Is made the seat of Peace.  
The Chancellor is in the ●ower,  
A woeful sight to see;  
And when he by the Head is lower,  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

Lord A— l and B— s,  
With P— s are withdrawn;  
The World had not such Braves as these  
To guard the Popish throne.  
When P— turned of late,  
With brawny S—  
Their haughty Necks submit to Fate,  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

Poulton is in Newgate fast,  
And some say Father Petre;  
If they at Tyburn Swing at last,  
Who can die Martyrs greater;  
When Father Ellis is withdrawn,  
Who was so bold and free,  
And Conquest for his Tongue is flown,  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

The Orange grafted in White hall,  
And Lucas in the Tower;  
The Fathers fled both great and small,  
'tis time that we should scour.  
The Rabble they have eased the Town  
Of Priests and Popery;  
When once they pull the chapels down,  
Then hey Boys up go we.    

The Explanation.  
To the Tune of, Hey Boys up go we.  

I.  
OUr Priests in Holy Pilgrimage,  
quiter through the Land have gone,  
Surveying each Religious House  
Of Abbot, Fry'r, and Nun  
The yearly Rent,  
And full Extent  
Of every one they know;  
And in whose hands  
Are all our Lands,  
As ancient Writers show.   

II.  
Those Places all shall be restored,  
As in short time you'll hear,  
I know the Man has passed his word,  
Of which you need not fear:  
He did never evade  
One Promise made,  
Nor failed a Friend in Woe;  
But when 'twill be,  
Nor I, nor he,  
Nor the Devil himself does know.   

III.  
Religious Men shall hither hast,  
Their Zeal shall make them run;  
The Jesuits shall your Wives keep chased,  
Each Fry'r Confess his Nun:  
The Men shall Shrive,  
The Women—  
So all shall be forgiven;  
Your Daughters Whore,  
Then quit their Score,  
And make them fit for Heaven.   

IV.  
For Lady Abbess shall appear  
An old Flux'd Bawd or Punk,  
Has done both ways these threescore years,  
talked Bawdy, and been Drunk;  
Religious Puns  
To teach the Nuns  
Committed to her Charge;  
And mortify  
Their L—  
As Nature does enlarge.   

V.  
The Vestals all shall Virgins be  
That never went astray,  
Have been trained up Religiously  
The clean contrary way:  
In Julian's Song  
For Whoring long,  
Tho oft they've noted been;  
Nature of Force  
Will have its Course,  
'twas all but Venial Sin.   

VI.  
Your colleges shall be our own,  
As vacancy does fall;  
We'll strip each Doctor of his Gown,  
The Parsons turn out all:  
Their Revenues great,  
With pleasant Seat,  
The Church to us has given,  
To sing you Mass,  
Confess each Ass,  
And make you fit for Heaven.   

VII.  
Nor will we any longer wait,  
After such notice given;  
Nor shall they in the Pulpits prate,  
Or teach the way to Heaven:  
'tis our Province,  
You to convince;  
Our Arguments shall be,  
Without Dispute  
To make you mute,  
Then, Hey Boys, up go we.   

VIII.  
Now, heretics, consider well  
The Game you have to play;  
You yet may keep on this side Hell,  
If warned by what we say:  
But e'er your Lands  
Shall escape our hands,  
Which have been long our due;  
We'll Stab, we'll Shoot,  
And Damn to boot,  
Then, Hey Boys, up go you.    

A New Song on the Prince and Princess of Orange.  

I.  
SInce Orange is on british Land,  
That Protestant who will not stand  
To him, and under his Command,  
Befriends the Romish Cause,  
Gives all our Liberties away,  
Our Lives to Popish Priests a prey,  
And Magna Charta does betray  
The Test and Penal Laws.   

II.  
Bid too Illustrious Moll appear,  
We sha'n't have then more cause to fear,  
From any Jesuit practise here,  
The Lawful Heir to cheat.  
Then to her Highness a full Glass,  
The Second Faith-defending Lass,  
And to her Good Man: but the Mass  
Let Providence defeat.    

Tyrconnel's distracted Readings upon his Irish Forces in England. In Allusion to Mr. Cowley's Pindarick Ode upon destiny. Hoc quoque fatale est sic ipsum expendere fatum. Manil.  

I.  
1. STrange and unnatural, let's stay and see  
This Pageant of a Prodigy.  
2. Lo, of themselves, Dear joys, like Chess-men move,  
Lo, the unbred, ill-contriv'd machines prove  
As full of Craft and Cruelty,  
Of Baseness and of Butchery,  
As we ourself, who feared they wa'n't so fierce as we.  
Here a proud Pawn in Irish shape I'admire,  
That still designing higher,  
3.( Till the Fool lost his Lot  
By blabbing out their Plot,  
Foretelling the designed St. Clements flood  
He hoped to see run with heretic Blood.  
4. For which twice whipped, that done,  
And's Gauntlet Race begun)  
At the Goal end became  
5. Another Thing and Name:  
6. Here I'm amazed at the actions of a Knight,  
That does bold Plunders in no Fight;  
Whose Landlords swear he has lost his Senses quiter,  
For he can't hear their Wrongs, nor see to do them Right.  
7. Here I,( woe's me) Usurping Rooks do blame,  
For those false Moves, that thus has broken our Game;  
That to their Grave the Bag, those conquered Machines bring,  
But above all, th' ill Conduct of the Mated King.   

II.  
What e'er these seem, what e'er Philosophy  
And Sense and Reason tell, said I,  
These Tools have Life, Election, Liberty,  
'tis their own Native Wisdom Molds their State;  
Their Wit and Folly make their Fate,  
They do, they do, said I, but straight,  
Lo, from my enlightened Eyes, the Mists and Shadows fell,  
Which hinder Spirits from being Visible;  
1. And then appeared the Locusts come from Hell;  
When Lo, I see the Jesuits played the Mate.  
With them, alas! no otherwise it proves;  
An unseen Hand makes all their Moves;  
And some are Great, and some are Small,  
Some climb from good, some from good Fortune fall;  
Those senseless Teagues, and these Dear Joys we call  
Figures, alas, of Speech, for Pop'ry plays us all.   

III.  
Me from the Womb, Midwife Pope Joan did take;  
She cut my Navel, washed me, and my Head  
With her own Hands she fashioned;  
She did a Covenant with me make,  
And circumcised my tender Soul, and thus she spake:  
Thou Bigot of my Roman Church shall be;  
Hate and Renounce( said she)  
Sense, Reason, Laws and Test, Justice and Truth for me.  
So shalt thou great at Court be, but in War  
1. Thy flight from Dublin Gallows will thee bar.  
Boast thou of thy great fertile Praise,  
Thy designed Massacre will raise,  
Although thou liv'st not to enjoy the Bays.  
She spoken, and all my years to come  
bewitched took their unlucky Doom.  
Their several ways of Life let others choose;  
Their several Pleasures let them use:  
But I was Born for Hate and to Abuse.   

IV.  
With Fate what boots it to contend?  
Such I begun, such am, and so must end,  
The Star that did my Being frame,  
Was but a Lambent flamme.  
And some small Light it did dispense,  
But neither Wit nor Sense,  
Nor Heat, nor Influence.  
No matter Talbot, let the Blind Goddess see  
How Grateful thou canst be,  
For all her eligible Gifts conferred on thee,  
( specific Essences of Popery)  
As Folly, Lust and Flattery,  
Fraud, Extortion, Calumny,  
murder, Self-will and Infidelity,  
cowardice and hypocrisy.  
Do thou rejoice, not blushy to be,  
As all th' inspired Disingenuous Men,  
1. And all thy damned Fore-Fathers were, from martel down to Pen.    

Notes on the First Stanza.  
1. STrange and Unnatural. It's as Strange that England should want Ireland, as it is Unnatural for her War-like Spirits to brook their Infantry's Assistance.  
2. Themselves. By their Barbarous, Thievish, and Rapatious Behaviors, where ever they Marched, one would think, they had no Officer to Command them.  
3. A Dear Joy twice whipped in Covent Garden, for saying he hoped to see the Streets run with Heretical Blood on St. Clement's Day at Night, when, i● seems, the Massacre was designed to be.  
4. Viz. For discovering the Plot; not for the Words speaking, as the gulled Protestants were made to believe.  
5. Another Thing and Name, Viz. The Irish Gentleman soldier by Father Whip and Gauntlet, was immediately Transubstantiated into a cashiered Scoundrel Rogue.  
6. An Irish Spark, whose behaviour in his sundry Quarters from Chester to London and Portsmouth proclaim him.  
7. Usurping Rooks, i.e. The Irish Priests, not content with their own natural Motions, but endeavoured to leap over the Bishops Heads● to make Vacancies for their own persuasion.   

Notes on the Second Stanza.  
1. LOcusts. It was the Opinion of that Reverend Divine Mr. Joseph Mead, and that Immortal Philosopher Dr. Henry Moor, that the Jesuits are meant by the Locusts from the bottonles Pit, in the 9th Chapter of the Revelations.   

Notes on the Third Stanza.  
1. WHen Jepson, Wareing, and Tomson, were Executed at the Gallows at Dublin for Blood's Plot against the late Duke of Ormond, in the year 1663. some people cried out a Rescue, a Rescue, which was suspected; at which 10000 of the gentle Spectators at least, run away from the Gallows, amongst which this Famous Warrior by the name of Colonel T— but, spurred on to the Gates of the City, which finding shut against him, courageously ventured his Life to save it, by swimming over the Liffie.   

Notes of the Fourth Stanza.  
1. CHarles martel, Son of the Whore Alpayde,( by pippin the French King) the Great Church Robber, and first violater of tithes in the Christian World, and Will. Pen the Second: For which Mar●… ell was damned, or the Legend Lies: For Eucherie Bishop of orleans, in a Vision, saw him in Hell Torments: And that Eucherie might believe what he saw, an Angel instructed him to seek for martel in his Sepulchre, which he did, but found him not, but the Place all black, and instead of martel a direful Serpent, as you have it in the Annals of orleans.   

A New Protestant Litany.  

FRom the Race of Ignatius, and all their Colleagues,  
From all the long Counsels of Bougres and Teagues,  
And from Papacy Rampant, and all her intrigues,  
Lihra Nos, &c.   

From Cobweb Laun-Charters, from sham-freedom Banters,  
Our Liberty keepers, and New-Gospel-Planters,  
In the trusty kind hands of our great Quo Warranters,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From High Court Commissions, to Rome to overdo us,  
From a Radamanth Chanc'lor, the Western Judge Minos,  
Made Head of the Church by new Jure Divino's,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From our great Test Records, cut out into Thrums,  
From Waste Paper Law, used with Pasties and Plums,  
Magna Charta, Magna Farta, made Fodder for Bums,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From a new-found Stone-Doublet to th' old Sleeves of Laun,  
And all to make room for the Pope-Lander Spawn;  
To see a Babe Born, through Bed-Curtains Close Drawn,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From resolving over Night, where to Lye-in to Morrow,  
And from cunning Back-door to let Midwife through,  
Eight Months Full grown Man-Child, Born without Pang or Sorrow,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From a Godfather Pope to the Heir of a Throne;  
From three Christian Names to one Sur-name unknown,  
With a tiler Milch-Nurse, now the Mothers Milk's gone,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From Gun-Powder Bonfires, all turned out of play,  
Not a poor Window Candle dare to give a stolen Ray,  
But all kept reserved for Great Simnel's Birth Day,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From Dad Petre's Pilots at th' Helm to befriend us,  
With all hands that Pope, Turk, or Devil can lend us,  
And all for a Second Queen Bess to defend us,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From nuntios from Rome to consult how to drub  
The Protestant Hydra by our Hercules Club;  
And a Warming-pan Plot, worse than Celliers Meal-Tub,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From old hundred of thousand Pound Fines under-rated,  
Russel's Head for his Common House Votes elevated,  
And Essex's Razor at Rome Consecrated,  
Libera Nos, &c   

From Sampson-Cord Oaths, snapped asunder with ease  
From No Faith in Man, Coleman's Mouth with 〈…〉 squeez●…  
stopped to tell no more Tales of Father Le cheese,  
Libera Nos, &c   

From old Dunkirk sold for a Song and a Dance,  
The Protestant long designed Cause to Advance,  
By Most Christian Reformers, the Dragoons of Fran●…  
Libera Nos,& ●…   

From supporting our Church Alamode Magdalano,  
From Mahomet Monsieur our new Lord Soldano,  
And the English Pipes tuned to French Fistula in 〈…〉  
Libera Nos,& ●…   

From Tyrconnel's Bog-trotters at th' old Trade Throat-cutt●…  
From new conquering Ireland for the th' English 〈…〉 foot●…  
And from Sacrament Oaths of North heresy root●…  
Libera Nos, 〈…〉   

From Judges with Empsom and Dudley's Infectio●…  
From Knaves in Fools Coats, by Infallible Direc●…  
Raising heretic Armies for the Roman Protect●…  
Libera Nos, 〈…〉   

From threescore thousand Crowns, under Pl●… malig●…  
Given Loretto's great Lady, that famous heaven 〈…〉 n●…  
To purchase no more than a poor Cushion Preg●…  
Libera Nos, 〈…〉   

From a Courage of Steel with Intellects Leaden,  
From Renouncing Three Crowns, and all for God-Breden,  
To follow the Dance of Christiana of Sweden,  
Libera Nos, &c.   

From giving our Parliament Writs a withdraw,  
Our last Game for preventing of Justice and Law,  
In hopes of Concealing our dear Cloven Paw,  
Libera Nos, &c.    

A New Litany for the Holy Time of LENT.  

I.  
FRom all the Women We have whor'd  
From being bound to keep Our Word,  
From Civil Broils and Foreign Sword,  
Libera nos Domine.   

II.  
From store of Ships and want of Men,  
From leaping into the lions Den,  
From a Dutch-War, and Burnet's Pen,  
Libera nos, &c.   

III.  
From Bombs of France, and Bulls of Rome,  
From being Hen-peck'd worse at Home,  
From D— insatiate Womb,  
Libera nos, &c.   

IV.  
From Toleration and such Nonsense,  
From granting Liberty of Conscience  
To heretics, against their own Sense,  
Libera nos, &c.   

V.  
From hopes we shall Dissenters bring  
To Union with a Popish King,  
And P— n, that managed the whole thing,  
Libera nos, &c.   

VI.  
From standing of our Slaves in dread,  
From being by the Priesthood lead  
From English-Limbs, to a Roman-Head,  
Libera nos, &c.   

VII.  
From Oxford, faithful to his Trust,  
From being to Our Promise Just,  
From M— Pride to his Wive's Lust,  
Libera nos, &c.   

VIII.  
From Somerset and haughty Lory,  
That would Eclipse our Roman Glory,  
And make a Jest of Purgatory,  
Libera nos, &c.   

IX.  
From Parliaments that dare oppose,  
And led their sovereign by the Nose,  
And from the Sanguinary Laws,  
Libera nos, &c.   

X.  
From such as will not do their best  
To take off Penal-Laws and Test:  
From Stamford, Grey, and all the rest,  
Libera nos, &c.   

XI.  
We humble do beseech thee Lord,  
That we may Govern by the Sword,  
And Berwick know no other Word,  
Quaesimus te audire nos Domine.   

XII.  
That it may please while we do Reign,  
however Neighbour Rules the Main,  
To make us great in our Campaign,  
Quaesimus te, &c.   

XIII.  
That it may be enough for these,  
While others Towns and Castles seize,  
To storm 'em here in Effigies,  
Quaesimus te, &c.   

XIV.  
That they may feast and make a Noise,  
●… nd with their Volleys rend the Skies,  
●… 'gainst a flock of Butter-flys,  
Quaesimus te, &c.   

XV.  
●… hat it may please thee to repair  
●… second P— is, who is in despair,  
●… nd furnish England with an Heir,  
Quaesimus te, &c.   

XVI.  
That it may be a Prince of Wales,  
And if the Smock and Dada fails,  
Adopt a Brat of Neddy H—,  
Quaesimus te, &c.   

XVII.  
That it may prove its Fathers Hope,  
Restore the Nuncio and the Pope,  
And save Old Petre from the Rope,  
Quaesimus te, &c.   

XVIII.  
That we with Members may be blessed,  
In such a Parliament possessed,  
As shall Annul the Bloody Test,  
Quesimus te, &c.   

XIX.  
That we have time before we die  
To settle Church and Popery,  
That Father Condon may not fly,  
Quaesimus te, &c.  
Grant we never across the Main,  
To be a Geneal for Spain,  
And never see Breda again,  
Quaesimus te, &c.    

The Council.  
To the Tune of, Jamaica.  

I.  
TWO Toms and not,  
In Council sat,  
To rig out a thanksgiving,  
And make a Prayer,  
For a thing in the Air,  
That's neither Dead nor Living.   

II.  
The Dame of East  
As 'tis expressed,  
In her late quaint Epistle,  
Did to our Lady,  
Bequeath the Baby,  
With Coral, Bells and Whistle.   

III.  
With this intent, she to her sent  
Her Gold and Diamond Bodkin,  
That to conceive,  
She might have leave;  
And is not this an odd thing?   

IV.  
Then a Pot of Ale,  
To the Prince of Wales,  
Tho some are of Opinion,  
That when 'tis come out,  
A Double Clout  
Will cover his Dominion.    

The Audience.  

THE critics that pretend to Sense,  
Do cavil at the Audience,  
As if his Grace were not as good,  
To bow to, as a piece of Wood.  
Did not our Fathers heretofore  
Their senseless Deities adore?  
Did not Old Delphos all along  
Vent Oracles without a Tongue?  
And wisest Monarchs did imporune  
From the dumb God to know their Fortune.  
Did not the Speaking-Head of late,  
Of matters Learnedly Debate?  
And rendered without Tongue or Ears  
Wise answers to his whispering Peers?  
And shall we to a living Prince  
Deny the State of Audience?  
What tho the Bantling cannot speak?  
Yet like the Blockhead he may squeak;  
Give Audience by Interpreter,  
The wisest Prince can do no more.   

Then enter with a Princes Banner  
Sir Charles, after the usual manner.  
Great Sir, His Holiness from Rome  
Greets your high Birth. The Prince cried Mum.  
The Consecrated Pilch and Clout,  
If you'll vouchsafe to hear me out,  
And many other Toys I 'm come  
To lay them to your sacred Bum.  
●… o young, yet such a Godlike Ray!  
●… hoebus, your Dad, was Priest D— a,  
●… reat Prince, I have no more to say.  
●… onducted next their comes, Great Sir,  
●… n Envoy from the Emperor,  
To Gratulate your lucky Fate,  
That gives to Englands Throne new date;  
●… e joy that any thing should Reign,  
To baffle Orange and the Dane.  
The Youth, to see them thus beguiled,  
●… n token of his favour, smiled.  
●… ut at the Spaniard laughed outright.  
●… s shammed again in Eighty Eight.  
●… exit, having passed the inward sentry,  
●… he doubtful Monsieur made his entry.  
●… he King, my Master, Sir, has sent  
●… our Royal Birth to compliment;  
〈…〉 you will make it but appear,  
●… hat you are Englands Lawful Heir.  
●… ere Lady P— is took him short,  
●… have you a King? Thank Maz'rine for't!  
●… r. man] whoever the Father was, the Mother  
●… as France's Q. ( P— is) Who questions t'other?  
●… t this Reproof he pawned a Purse,  
●… nd parting made his peace with Nurse.  
●… he Dane, the sued, with other Nations,  
●… ome in with loud Congratulations.  
●… 'pon the sued so famed for battle,  
●… e cast a frown, and shook his Rattle.  
●… nd for the Dane, who took the part  
●… f good Prince George, he let a fart.  
●… his put him in a sullen fit,  
●… urse scarce could dance him out of it.  
●… hen an ambassador from Poland,  
●… nock'd at the Door, and Velt from Holland,  
He crying sucked, and sucking cried,  
When Lady Governess replied,  
Peace, Prince, peace, Prince, peace, pretty Prince  
And let the States have Audience.  
Dutch-man.] From Holland I am hither sent,  
To Challenge, not to compliment.  
Prepare with speed your Twenty Sail,  
Your twice four thousand on the Nail;  
Which by your Senate was enacted,  
With Orange, when your Sire contracted.  
The Name of Holland did affright,  
And make th'young Hero scream outright.  
But, Orange named, the Royal Elf,  
The sweet, sweet Babe, beshit himself.  
Tyrconnel, who came o'er no less  
Than to be made his Governess,  
To take her leave, by luck came in,  
She sucked his Nose, and licked him clean.  
Last came the Lady H— from Play,  
moved by Instinct he cried, Mamma,  
And posted to the Queen away.    

The States-Man's almanac: Being an Excellent New Ballad, in which the Qualities of each Month are considered; whereby it appears, that a Parliament cannot meet in any of the Old Months: With a Proposal for mending the calendar, humbly offered to the Packers of the next Parliament.  
To the Tune of, could and Raw, &c. PROLOGUE.  

THE talk up and down,  
In Country and Town,  
Has been long of Parliaments sitting,  
But we'll make it clear,  
ne'er a month in the Year,  
Is proper for such a Meeting.   

II.  
The Judges declare it,  
The Ministers swear it,  
And the Town as a Tale receives it:  
Let them say what they can,  
There's never a Man,  
Except God's Vicegerent, believes it.   

III.  
If the critics in spite,  
Our Arguments slight,  
And think 'em too light for the Master:  
It has often been known,  
That Men on a Throne,  
Have Hrarang'd the whole Realm with no better.   

IV.  
For in times of Old,  
When Kings were less bold  
And made for their faults Excuses:  
Such topics as these,  
The Commons to please,  
Did serve for most Excellent Uses.   

V.  
Either Christmas came on,  
Or Harvest begun,  
And all must repair to their Station:  
'twas too Dry, or too Wet,  
For the Houses to Sit,  
And Hey for a Prorogation.   

VI.  
Then, Sir, if you please,  
With such Reasons as these,  
Let's see how each Moon is appointed:  
For tho it be strange,  
In all her Change,  
She Favours not God's Anointed.    

The almanac.  

January. I.  
THE first is too could,  
For Popery to hold,  
Since Southern climates Improve it:  
And therefore in Frost,  
'tis Odds but it's lost,  
If they offer to remove it.   

February. II.  
The next does betid,  
( Tho then the King died)  
Ill luck, and they must not be tampring:  
For had not Providence quick,  
cooled his Head i'th' neck,  
before God they were all a scampring.   

March. III.  
The Month of Old Rome,  
Has an Omen with some,  
But the sleeping Wind then rouses,  
And trust not the crowd,  
When Storms are so loud,  
Lest their Breath infect the Houses.   

April. IV.  
In this by Mishap,  
Southask had a Clap,  
Which peppered our Gracious Master:  
And therefore i'th' Spring,  
He must physic his Thing,  
And venture no new Disaster.   

May. V.  
This Month is too good,  
And too lusty his Blood,  
To be for Business at leisure,  
With his Confessors leave,  
Honest Bridget may give,  
The Fumbler Royal his Pleasure.   

June. VI.  
The Brains of the State,  
Have been too hot of late,  
They have managed all Business in rapture:  
And to call us in June,  
Is much to the same Tune,  
Being mad to the end of the Chapter.   

July. VII.  
This Season was made  
For Camp and Parade,  
Where with the expense of his Treasures;  
Of much Sweat and Pains,  
Discreetly he Trains,  
Such Men, as will break all his Measures.   

August. VIII.  
This Month did advance  
Our Projects in France,  
As Bartholomew Remembers;  
But alas they want force,  
To take the same Course,  
With our Heretical Members.   

September. IX.  
They cannot now meet,  
For the Progress was set,  
But they find it a scurvy Fashion:  
To ride, and to ride,  
To be snubb'd and denied,  
By every good man in the Nation.   

October. X.  
Now Hunting comes in,  
That licence for Sin,  
That does with a Cloak befriend him,  
For if the Queen knows,  
What at G— 's he does,  
His Divine Right can hardly defend him.   

November. XI.  
November might do,  
For ought that we know:  
But that the King promised by chance Sirs,  
And his Word before,  
Was pawned for much more,  
Than e're 'twill be able to Answer.   

December. XII.  
The last of the year,  
Resemblance does bear,  
To their hopes and fortune declining:  
ne'er hope for success,  
Day grows less and less,  
And the Sun once so high has done shining.    

EPILOGUE.  

YOU Gypsies of Rome,  
That run up and down,  
And with Miracles People cousin:  
By the help of some Saint.  
Get the Month that you want,  
And make Thirteen of the Dozen.   

II.  
You see the Old year,  
Wont help ye, 'tis clear,  
And therefore to save your Honour:  
Get a new Sun and Monn,  
And the Work is half done,  
And Faith I think not sooner    

The State-Holder: Or, the princes almanac, Calculated for the Meridian of London, and Calling of a Protestant Parliament; being a Counterpart of the States-Man's almanac.  

PROLOGUE.  

I.  
THE Talk about went,  
That a Free Parliament,  
Should never more Sit in this Nation:  
But I'll make, it clear,  
There's no Month in the year,  
But is proper on this occasion.   

II.  
Tho some did deceive us,  
You may now believe us,  
Since the Royal Assent made his Exit:  
Say what e'er you can,  
There's never a man,  
cepting Lord Wem that suspects it.   

III.  
If the Graves of the Laws,  
Our topics oppose,  
We'll prove 'tis the Sense of the Nation;  
The readiest way,  
To make the Slaves pay,  
For their Nibbling with Dispensation.   

IV.  
In times on Record,  
When Kings kept their Word,  
And people were in their Senses:  
So poor an Excuse,  
Was such an Abuse,  
No Monarch e'er made such Prete ces,   

V.  
The King is withdrawn,  
The Prince come to Town,  
The timely Redeemer o'th' Nation:  
The Lords are all Set,  
And the old Members met,  
Then hey! for a Convocation.   

VI.  
For tho to our loss,  
Things ever went across,  
Whilst Petre was chief Director:  
There is not a Sun,  
Or a Change in the Moon,  
But favours our Great Protector.    

The almanac.  

January. I.  
THO the First be too could,  
For Popery to hold,  
Yet fear not a Dissolution:  
For tho it be Frost.  
And the Jesuists Crost,  
It agrees with a Dutch Constitution.   

February. II.  
Though next came a thing,  
Brought Popery in,  
With all the fine relics and Crosses:  
Tho then the King died,  
We have One on our side,  
This Month will repair all our Losses.   

March. III.  
The Month of Old Rome,  
Will bring 'em all home,  
The Authors of all our Evil;  
This Month the Wind blows,  
And the Breath of the House  
Will sand 'em all going to the Devil.   

April. IV.  
In this the Old Whore  
Of Babel came o'er,  
Which was a sore Clap to the Nation;  
And therefore i'th' Spring,  
We must manage the thing,  
To make a full Reformation.   

May. V.  
The Prince is too good,  
And too near to the Blood,  
To allow to the House any leisure;  
The Lords and High Powers,  
Must gather new Flowers,  
To stock the Exhausted Treasure.   

June. VI.  
This Month brought in Grist,  
To the Hot-headed Priest,  
Who over-ruled the Ruler,  
And therefore the House,  
By way of a dose,  
Must Sit to prepare 'em a Cooler.   

July. VII.  
This Month of late made,  
For Camp and Parade,  
In which were exhausted our Treasures,  
Will better be spent  
By a wise Parliament,  
Enacting and making new Measures.   

August. VIII.  
This finished a League,  
With Monsieur and Teague,  
For a total Extirpation  
Of the heretics Cause:  
And therefore the House  
Must sit to Establish the Nation.   

September. IX.  
The Colleges fooled,  
This month over-ruled,  
And therefore each Protestant Member,  
Must sit and Debate,  
Of matters of State,  
To set all things right in September.   

October. X.  
This Season was spent,  
By Burton and Brent,  
To manage each Corporation;  
And therefore 'tis fit,  
The Houses should sit,  
To Vote it a Combination:   

November. XI.  
Above all the rest,  
Will be in request,  
The Auspicious Month of November;  
When Orange our Cause,  
Restored with the Laws,  
Recorded by every Member.   

December. XII.  
Tho this be the last,  
And all danger past,  
Yet are we resolved every Member,  
Both Common and Peer,  
To sit all the Year,  
From January to December.    

EPILOGUE.  

YOU Gypsies of Rome,  
That hence are withdrawn,  
In the Name of the State, we beseech you,  
To the dozen before,  
Find out a Month more,  
And we'll sit out that month to oblige you.   

II.  
You see ne're a close  
Does favour your Cause,  
Since England's so well protected:  
When there's no more Moon,  
You may sit on this Throne;  
For sooner you cannot expect it.     

The ORANGE.  

I.  
GOOD People I pray,  
Throw the Orange away,  
'tis a very sour Fruit, and was first brought in play,  
When good Judith Wilk,  
In her Pocket brought Milk,  
And with Cushins and Warming-pans laboured to bilk  
This same Orange.   

II.  
When the Army retreats,  
And the Parliament sits,  
To Vote our K— the true use of his Wits:  
Twill be a sad means,  
When all he obtains,  
Is to have his Calves-head dressed with other mens Brains  
And an Orange'   

III.  
The sins of his Youth,  
Made him think of one Truth,  
When he spawl'd from his Lungs, and bled twice at the mouth,  
That your fresh sort of food,  
Does his carcase more good,  
And the damned thing that cured his putrify'd blood  
Was an Orange.   

IV.  
This hopeful young Son,  
Is surely his own,  
Because from an O— it cried to be gone;  
But the heretics say,  
He was got by D—  
For neither K— nor the Nuncio dare stay  
Near an Orange.   

V.  
Since Lewis was Cut,  
From his Breech to the Gut,  
France fancies an Open-arse delicate Fruit,  
We wiser than so,  
Have two strings to our Bow,  
For we've a good— that's an Open-arse too,  
And an Orange.   

VI.  
Till Nanny writ much,  
To the Rebels the D—  
Her Mother, good Woman, ne'er owed her a grudge,  
And the box of the Ear,  
Made the matter appear,  
That the only foul savour the Q— could not bear  
Was an Orange.   

VII.  
An honest Old Peer,  
That forsook God last year,  
pulled off all his plasters, and armed for the War;  
But his Arms would not do,  
And his Aches throbb'd,  
That he wished his own Pox and his M— s too  
On an Orange.   

VIII.  
Old Tyburn must groan,  
For Jeffreys is known  
To have perjured his Conscience to mary his Son;  
And D— s Cause  
Will be tried by Just Laws,  
And H— t must taste a most damnable Sauce,  
With an Orange.   

IX.  
job, Pen, and a score  
Of those honest men more,  
Will find this same Orange exceedingly sour;  
The Q— to be seized,  
Will be very ill pleased,  
And so will K. P—, too dry to be squeezed  
By an Orange    

An Epistle to Mr. Dryden.  

DRyden, thy Wit has catterwaul'd too long,  
Now Lero, Lero, is the only Song.  
What Singing, Dancing, Interludes of late,  
Stuff, and set off our goodly Farce of State?  
Not Albevil can turn a deep Intrigue,  
Till first well warmed with Bishop Talgol's Jigg.  
w— m cannot sleep, or if a Nap he takes,  
His Dream some Old Tressilian Ballad breaks.  
But was e'er seen the like, in Prose or Metre,  
To this mad Play, or work of Fat her Petre?  
At Court no longer Punchionello takes,  
Each Scene, Part, Cue, misshapen to the Mac's.  
Such Plot, and the Catastrophe is such,  
We must be either Irish all, or Dutch.  
Our very Judges in Westminster-Hall,  
Like their Old Roof, were Irish Timber all.  
And( bless us!) Irish Wolves are brought to keep  
The Nation, grown now all such silly Sheep;  
Such errand Asses, errand Cattle made,  
Or to be yoked, or saddl'd, fleeced, or flayed.  
O Martyrs Son! thy destiny is shown,  
Such props are for a Scaffold, not a Throne:  
So Juno, in her impotence of rage,  
By Heaven denied, did Hell's black Powers engage;  
Yet sped the hero: Jove and Fate were strong;  
Religious care: He took his Gods along:  
But hark, O hark, the belgic Lion roars,  
And shakes afar the French and British shores:  
One Brandy drinks, one mad with Prophecies:  
Lord! what they tell us of some Prince from freeze;  
Arms, and the Man they sing, no French finess,  
But hearty blows, and Brandenburg Address.  
Hence Vigour, and our Figure comes again,  
We rise, and walk, all true erected men.  
The force of those Circaean Cups subdued,  
And the wild Charms our new Armida brewed,  
The Witchcraft he( our true Rinaldo) broken,  
And grubs the base pretenders to his stock.   

But oh, what Spirit of deceit afar,  
possessed our Pulpits, and bewitched the Bar?  
What Bane, what Mischief on poor Mortals  shed  
By Vermin, from the Laws corruption bread?  
Tho to their Irish Roof no Cobwebs cleave,  
Below what strife and endless toils they wove:  
Wanting brave strength to strangle men to death,  
What Frauds they hid! What Venom underneath!  
And when some shorter course to Murder's shown,  
Cry, O that( luscious) Point! they gained the Crown.   

Sons of the Pulpit the same measures keep,  
And of that same stumm'd Cup have drunk as deep.  
Agog for some odd transubstantiate thing,  
Chimera Reign, or metaphysic King,  
sublimed to School Divinity extremes,  
Their Brains would crow with Patriarchal Dreams.  
So high from solid honest wisdom blown,  
theyed have some Hippo-Centaur on the Throne.  
Not Law-ordain'd, but by some God appointed,  
Not Lay-elected, but be Priest-anointed.  
Away this Goblin Witchcraft, Priestcraft-Prince;  
Give us a King, Divine, by Law and Sense.   

Now Bar and Pulpit to Dragoons a sport,  
Their Cause is carried to the last Effort.  
●… rinces in more compendious method teach,  
●… orce is their way; let Old Apostles Preach.  
What's established Law, where standing Armies come,  
●… r who'll talk Gospel to a Kettle-Drum?  
●… hen God would hear, where Giants did oppress,  
The several Nations had their Hercules.  
●… o were the Horns of grizly violence broken,  
●… o people freed from triple Geryon's yoke.  
●… he various Snake in Lerna-Lough that bread,  
●… hat loll'd and hissed to Death at every head,  
●… emaean Lion, Erymanthian Boar,  
〈…〉 Bogs that wallow, and on Hills that roar:  
All by his Godlike Prowess done away,  
Their Lawless Rule, and that gigantic sway.   

In vain whilst this high Virtue Nations sought,  
The Nassau-House were never yet without.  
Nor is confined to Provinces their care,  
Their generous labour neighbouring Kingdoms share  
Here the foul Herd flee from his lifted hand,  
That long had made a Stable of the Land.  
The Monster of the Lough, new Lerna-Plague  
( But scarce in head) the Bog-begotten Teagne,  
The ravenous kind, the Harpies sharp for prey,  
With Birds obscene, and uncouth to the day.  
No Den, no Ditch, no rousting for them more,  
Now, now is come our Hercules ashore.  
Vile Fraud dispelled, and superstitious Mists:  
He from our Temple drives all Knaves and Priests.  
Then warmer w— op, in due Scarlet shown,  
To Coffee-Dick bequeathes his rusty Gown.  
Oh Dryden, if this Hercules were thine,  
How would his Club, and Atlas-shoulders shine:  
How wouldst thou all our Maids of Honour frigh●…  
With naughty Tale, of Fifty in a Night?  
Howe'er, no more let Xavier mar thy Pen,  
No Miracle to forty thousand men.   

When Law, and bald Divinity begins,  
Why then, the marvel that a Poet fins?    

A Sale of Old State household-stuff.  
To the Tune of, Old Simon the King.  

I.  
THE Government being resolved  
To new furnish the House of State,  
Hath thought fitting to put off the old,  
That was rusty and worn out of date.  
Then come all you State-Brokers away,  
And take off our old fashioned trinkoms,  
You for a small matter may buy  
What cost the price of three Kingdoms.  
Quoth J— the bigoted K—  
Quoth J— the politic thing,  
With a threadbare Oath,  
And a catholic Troth,  
That never was worth a farthing.   

II.  
Here's( what was to cleanse Church and State)  
The besom of Reformation,  
Brought in by Henry the Eighth,  
And Besses grave Convocation.  
Here are divers Conformity Acts,  
The Penal Laws and all,  
With a parcel of over-ruled Statutes,  
kicked out of Westminster-Hall.  
Quoth J—, &c.   

III.  
Come buy the old tapestry Hangings,  
Which hung in the House of Lords,  
That kept the Spanish Invasion,  
And Powder-plot, on Record.  
A musty old Magna Charta,  
That wants new scouring and cleansing,  
Writ so long since, and so dark too,  
That 'tis hard to pick out the meaning.  
Quoth J—, &c.   

IV.  
Here's a Pack of nasty Court Cards,  
Much fouled with over playing,  
condemned to the Fields of Tom T— d,  
For they never were worth the buying.  
A pitiful tattered Scotch League,  
swallowed merely to trepan men,  
Took by the late King in Intrigue,  
And afterwards burnt by the Hangman.  
Quoth J—, &c.   

V.  
Three Protestant Vizors much worn,  
And in use since the days of Queen Bess,  
Which now we have laid by with scorn,  
Being resolved to appear with bare face.  
Come buy a thing brought from Breda,  
called a Royal Declaration,  
Which of late we have copied at large,  
Having promised to keep up the fashion  
Of old Simon the King,  
Quoth J—, &c.   

VI.  
A parcel of congee d'esliers,  
By heretic Bishops owned,  
The reward of the old Cavaliers,  
For their Loyalty to the Crown.  
Here's your Corporation Charters,  
And University Regulations,  
For all which as cheap you may barter,  
As Cucumbers in the Vacation.  
Quoth J—, &c.   

VII.  
Here's a Crew of Exclusion Abhorrers,  
And a litter of Loyal Addressors,  
Who'd have run to the Devil for us,  
When they Bully'd for Popish Successors.  
But now they are down in the mouth,  
Their Damning and Healthing forsakes 'em,  
If you think them not a penny-worth  
For fetching, the Devil may take them.  
Quoth J—, &c.   

VIII.  
Here's a Tribe of mad Pulpiteers,  
That still for Right Line were trimming,  
We'll exchange them for Bandileers,  
And leave them to Urim and Thummim.  
Here's a Cart Load of Observators,  
That were writ in Defence of the Church,  
By Hodge that Eternal Prater,  
Whose Quill is now left in the lurch.  
Quoth J—, &c.   

IX.  
Will you buy any Protestant Places,  
In Army, or where you think best Sir?  
Those that think to keep them are Asses,  
When once we are rid of the Test Sir.  
And thus I will end my Sale,  
With a Bar to either House,  
If we get but over it well,  
For the rest I care not a louse.  
Quoth J—, &c.    

The DREAM.  
wearied with Business, and with Cares oppre●…  
My faculties were Doz'd and fond of rest,  
An unusual heaviness did on me creep,  
My Soul indulged it; yet I could not sleep.  
Dreams short and frightful vexed me all the Night,  
I found I was betrayed, and longed for Light;  
The first such Wonders brought within my view,  
And when I waked I almost thought them true.  
Methought I saw great Julius sadly lie  
Bleeding from all his Wounds, and Brutus by.  
The ungrateful Brutus which he doted on,  
With Meager Cassius pleased with what he had done▪  
Crying, the World and Brutus are my own.  
I nearer drew to view the Ghastly Trunk,  
But oh! the Scene was changed, Caesar was sunk  
'twas Charles the Second, which lay mangled there  
The Sacrificing Tribe too did appear,  
Brutus and Cassius, Y—k and Petre were.  
Charles weeping, grasped his Brother by the hand  
I heard him sighing say, within my Land  
A faithful Pious Mother thou wilt command,  
Who in the utmost of Extremity,  
When all but her and much upbraided, I  
would from the Crown have quiter excluded thee,  
preached up thy forfeit Title by our Laws,  
And in thy banishment maintain thy Cause;  
Passive Obedience thou hast much in store,  
But do not urge it to thy utmost power:  
James to preserve her most devoutly swore,  
Charles died, and James discharged his Oath next hour,  
〈…〉 saw the Priests flock in: the Bishops out,  
Saw Petres cram the Wafer down his Throat,  
Tho' dead, it saved the heretic no doubt.  
〈…〉 saw him poorly buried in the Night,  
A wretched Train, and a more wretched sight;  
To me it seemed a Funeral in Disguise,  
●… or fear his Creditors should his body seize.  
〈…〉 saw him shown for two pence in a Chest,  
Like Monk, Old Harry, Mary, and the rest,  
And if the figure answered its intent,  
●… n ten years time 'twould buy a Monument.  
My fancy brought me back again to Court,  
Where only Fools advice, and Knaves Resort,  
Our Kingdoms Curse, and other Nations Sport.  
〈…〉 heard the Jesuits in a grand Cabal,  
Resolve to Root out heresy or fall,  
Each his particular Opinion gave,  
They cried an opportunity we have  
To fetter her, who kept us long her Slave.  
●… mmediately they pitched upon a Rule,  
How to suppress it by a forward Fool,  
〈…〉 bawling blund'ring senseless Tool;  
Whose Mouthing at white-chapel first began,  
Who regularly to his Greatness ran  
●… hro' all the vile degrees of Treachery,  
●… nd now Usurps the Court of Equity?  
He said, if you would bring the Clergy down,  
Erect a Court-Commission from the Crown,  
And for dispensing Law let me alone,  
They hugged their Bubble, and the dead was done.  
Petre grew Fat, and with Mandamus's,  
cankered the Worthy Universities.  
The seats of Learning Black-Heads might command,  
Yet the Kings promise to the Church doth stand.  
Next, Liberty of Conscience was ordained;  
The Bishops for Contempt were then arraigned;  
The Nobles and the Commons Closetted,  
The Penal Laws must be Abolished:  
If you refuse, your Principles are base,  
Disloyal, and you lose our Royal Grace,  
And each that has Dependencies his place.  
Rochester fell, the Loyal Herbert starved,  
Each that forsook his God, his Monarch served:  
Somerset lost his Troops, and Shrowsbury,  
Oxford was stripped to Scarsdal Lumbley;  
And many more too tedious to relate,  
By whom in safety, James, thou now dost sit.  
When thou perceiv'dst no comfort from this Wild,  
Thy Dame, immediately was quick with Child,  
The Princess at the Bath when it was Born,  
The Bishops in the Tower, yet had he sworn  
The Church of England never should be wronged,  
Upon this News the hot-brained Papists thronged▪  
I waked, and as I on my Dream Reflected,  
My reasonable Notions thus projected:  
O King, I cried, thy Measures run too fast,  
And thou wilt find the curse of it at last;  
Why dost thou wrong thy Country, shane thy l●…  
To please false Priests, and an ungrateful Wife.  
A Wife, whose Character has always been  
A Fawning duchess, and a saucy Queen.  
How canst thou suffer Petre's Insolence,  
Who only makes a harvest of his Prince.  
A Slave, to Rule Three Kingdoms, Govern thee,  
Yet never was Master of a Family:  
This Serpent envying thy Happiness,  
Has crept into thy Eve, whose wilfulness  
Has certainly betrayed thy Paradise;  
Discerning Hallifax thy fall foresaw,  
And early did his slghted Faith withdraw;  
He needs no pardon for the advice he gave,  
Which shows him honester than some that have.  
Under the Rose Men use their mind to tell,  
But now Myne-Heir 'tis under the Broad Seal;  
O Nassaw, with thy promised Succours come,  
And be to us like Anthony to Rome:  
Thy Wife shall young Octavia's place supply,  
And those that have betrayed our Country fly,  
Unless the King to prove the Prince his own,  
Shall to the Lyons-Den present his Son,  
And if the Royal Brute do not destroy,  
The Infant, by Christ 'tis his none Joy.   

The Paradox on the Confinement of the Lords.  

LET cynics bark, and the stern Stagyrite  
At Epicures Precepts vent his spite;  
●●t Church-men Preach their threadbare Paradox,  
P●ssive Obedience to their bleeding Flocks.   

Let stoics boast of a contented mind,  
The unknown pleasures of a Life confined;  
That in Imprisonment the Soul is free,  
Grant me( ye Gods) but Ease and Liberty.   

That there is Pleasure in a dirty Road,  
A tired Horse that sinks beneath his Load,  
No money, and an old inveterate Pox;  
This I'll believe without a Paradox.   

But to affirm 'twas the dispensing Power,  
That did Decree the Prelates to the Tower;  
And such Confinements for the Propagation  
Of the true Doctrine of the Reformation.   

That to remove the Candlesticks from sight  
Is to enlarge the Gospel and the Light;  
And the Seven Angels are in Tribulation.  
To Guard the Church from Pagan Invocation.   

To say this is the keeping of our Word,  
The only way we have to be secured;  
Supporting of the English Church and Cause,  
In all its privileges, Rights and Laws.   

Pardon my Faith, for sooner I'll believe  
The subtle Serpent was deceived by Eve;  
Rome shall with heretics her promise keep,  
And Ravenous Wolves Protect the straggling Sheep,   

That P— shall be mildred and moderate,  
Not out of mere regard to his Estate;  
And for a Hopeful Heir Invoke the Saints,  
Out of his tender love to Protestants.   

That Father Petres Counsel shall prevail,  
To quit their guiltless Lordships without Fail;  
And Gildford beg i'th' name of the Young Prince,  
dispensing James may with their minds dispense.   

I will believe D— shall Fail His Grace,  
And C— shall with C— change place;  
And H— when made a Cardinal,  
Shall writ a learned Apology for all.   

That for Old Ely, Bristol, Bath and Wells,  
The Jesuits would pawn their Beads and Bells;  
For Lloyd and Peterborough to be Bail,  
Good Rochester would lie himself in Goal.   

That the Lord Chancellor shall quit the Purse,  
For their respective Fines to Reimburse;  
Or that the Judges should not all Conspire  
To find them guilty of a Preminire.   

That Pemberton shall at the Bench prevail,  
And Allibone shall pled to be their Bail;  
Or H—, that lies upon the Lurch;  
Who left the Charter shall restore the Church.   

That she, who lately looked into her Choice,  
The Witty Author of the Brace of Mice,  
Shall baffle the Old Panther in her Race,  
And Crown her Husband with the laurels Bays.   

All this I freely could believe and more,  
But that the Lords are sailed out of the Tower,  
Out of Respect to be sent back again,  
For breach of Laws they sworn are to maintain:   

That they have guilt of Disobedienee,  
In this you must excuse my Diffidence,  
Who placed upon the Monarchs Head the Crown,  
Props of the Church, and Pillars of the Throne.    

Over the Lord D— rs Door.  
UNhappier Age who e'er saw,  
When Truth doth go for Treason;  
Every Blockead's Will for Law,  
And Coxcombs Sense for Reason.  
Religion's made a Bawd of State,  
To serve the Pimps and Panders,  
Our Liberty a Prison Gate,  
And Irishmen Commanders.  
O Wretched is our Fate!  
What Dangers do we run,  
We must be Wicked to be Great,  
And to be Just, undone.  
'tis thus our sovereign keeps his Word,  
And makes the Nation Great;  
To Irishmen he trusts the Sword,  
To Jesuits the State.   

Over the Lord S— s Door.  
IF Ce●il the Wise,  
From his Grave should arise,  
And look the fat B— in the Face.  
He'd take him from Mass,  
And turn him to Grass,  
And swear he was none of Race.   

To the Speaking-Head.  
I 'm come my future Fate to seek,  
Speak then, celestial Block-head speak.  

Answer.  
hadst thou not consulted with the Witch at Rome,  
Thou needest not thus, like Saul, to Endor come  
To seek out( Brother Solid-head) thy Doom  
The Hearts of all thy Friends are lost and gone;  
Gazing they stand, and grieving round thy Throne.  
And scarce believe thou art the Martyrs Son.   

Those, whom thou favourest, merit not thy Grace,  
They, to their Interest, Sacrifice thy Peace,  
And will in sorrow make thee end thy days.   

Tempt not thy Fate too far, do not rely  
On force or fraud; Why shouldst thou Monarch, why,  
Live unbelov'd, and unlamented die?    

The Ghost.  
A Papist died, as 'twas Jehovah's Will,  
And his poor Soul went trudging down to Hell!  
Where, when he did arrive, just at the Entry,  
He found a mastiff Devil standing sentry,  
With flaming Eyes, and Face as black as Soot,  
A Musqueteer with a great Cloven Foot:  
And who goes there? I, a poor Papist Ghost,  
That's come to dwell upon the Stygian cost.  
Stay where you are, and do not press so hard,  
For I must call the Captain of the Guard;  
He gave me Orders to let none come in,  
But only such as should have leave from him.  
The Captain called, accordingly came forth,  
A Devil, of Integrity and Worth;  
Who all in Noblest Scarlet being dressed,  
With a most delicate fine embroidered rest.  
He asks the Ghost with a great Voice, as loud  
As mighty Thunder, breaking from a Cloud,  
What was the business? Sir, I am come to dwell  
If you will please to give me leave, in Hell.  
Damn you, you whoreson Dog, said he to him,  
I love my Master, and you shan't come in;  
For if above you eat your God, I fear,  
Should you come in, youl'd eat the Devil here.   

A Dialogue between a Loyal Addressor, and a Blunt Whiggish Clown  
UNgrateful Wreth! canst thou pretend a Caus●…  
To fear the loss of Liberty and Laws?  
Has not the King been at a vast expense,  
To raise the Gallant Troops in thy Defence?  
Did he not promise in a Proclamation,  
To rule by Law at's Coronation?  Clown. 
But has he not already damned the Test  
And sure that Princes Word is but a jest,  
Who Rules an Army, and Obeys a Priest:  
Nor can his Solemn Oath make us much safer;  
His Sword is Steel, his God is but a Wafer.   

A new Song of the misfortunes of an Old Whore and her Brats.  

I.  
THO' the Old Hag of Rome,  
Has bewitched us all Dumb,  
She can Tongue-tye our Muses no longer;  
We now spew out her Charms,  
And sing the brave Arms  
Of Great Orange and Scomberg, ding-dong Sir.   

II.  
If we opened our Lips,  
Wooden Peep-holes and Whips  
Was of late the mildred Pennance enjoined us;  
Now Truth's no more Treason,  
We esteem it a season  
To be merry, and so you shall find us.   

III.  
Life-and-Fortune Addresses,  
Shall not wear out our Presses,  
To flatter and soothe a Just Nero;  
But loud Declarations,  
To secure the three Nations  
Nrom the French, and from Lilli-burlero.   

IV.  
See how each Popish guile,  
Does look silly and dull,  
O hone! O hone! all are Lamenting,  
They've no catholic Banter,  
No wise Hind and Panther.  
Nor any thing else worth the Printing.   

V.  
While we heretics do writ,  
Ay, and Print too in spite  
Of the Devil, to revenge our late wrongs Sir;  
And the Hawkers hoarse Lungs,  
With our Lampoons and Songs,  
Make the Streets echo all the day long Sir.   

VI.  
Now brave Orange advances,  
What the famed League with France is,  
We shall know to poor catholics sorrow,  
strike with panic Fears,  
How the Whelps hang their Ears,  
Pack up relics, and bid us good Morrow!   

VII.  
Father Petre, and others  
Of his politic Brothers,  
Who one would think should have disdained it)  
Are on fire to be gone,  
Tho they might every one,  
If they'd stay here a little, be Sainted.   

VIII.  
Just like old Rats and Mice,  
These bold vermin are Wise,  
When they find a House ready to tumble,  
Away straight they advance,  
Bound for Flanders or France,  
Adieu, Votre Serviteur humble.   

IX.  
But pray what shall become,  
O'th' young Kitlings of Rome,  
〈…〉 mean those the Old Whore has Converted;  
When they're gripped by the Claws,  
Of revived Penal Laws,  
And by all Ghostly Fathers deserted.   

X.  
'tis hard to leave the poor Elves,  
Thus to shift for themselves,  
For unless you'd confirmed the Babes better-a,  
With your cowardice tainted,  
They'll e'en grudge to be Sainted  
With St. Coleman, St. Whitebread, &c.   

XI.  
So when Witches are taken  
For enchanting Folks Bacon,  
Cows, Horses, or any such thing Sir;  
And the Hang-man once takes 'em,  
Their Imps all forsake them,  
And bequeath 'em to a right Hempen-string Sir.   

XII.  
Our great States-men and Judges,  
The Jesuits true Drudges,  
To advance the Plots of Holy Church Sir;  
Do make wretched Grimaces,  
Losing Pensions and Places,  
To a Parliament left in the lurch Sir.   

XIII.  
And the young Welshman's Sre,  
Stuck like Dun in the Mire,  
With revengeful Despair looks around him;  
And then Curses the Crowd,  
That with Suffrages loud,  
Shouted ( Vive le Roy) when they crowned him.   

XIV.  
He thinks 'tis an hard Fate,  
Now to Capitulate,  
And revoke his indulged Dispensations;  
To his Sons Terms to buckle,  
To a Parliament truckle,  
And Eat up his kind Declarations.   

XV.  
'tis hard that dull heretics,  
Still Suspicious of Tricks,  
Cant believe the young Bantling's his Son Sir;  
As if Priests could n't create,  
At least Transubstantiate  
Him a Boy, for an Heir to his Crown Sir.   

XVI.  
Nay renowned Lords and Ladies,  
A long Bead-row have made us,  
With the Midwife and Learned Physicians;  
Cannot all this convince,  
That it is a welsh Prince,  
Though we publish the plain Depositions?   

XVII.  
Well it seems( to be short)  
There's no Remedy for't,  
Both his Gods and his Friends are retiring;  
And his Army falls off,  
While his Enemies scoff,  
To see the Prince kerb his aspiring.   

XVIII.  
Have we not a Wise King,  
To resolve he would bring  
All to Rome's Lure, or else Sacrifice Sir,  
Three Kingdoms to his Spleen,  
And to th' Will of his Queen?  
Did the world ever hear of a wiser?   

XIX.  
Without one sturdy fight,  
He's obliged to alight  
From the Throne, which he envied his Brother,  
And may like a poor Bigot,  
Go embark in a frigate,  
To see if he can find such another.   

XX.  
Since these swissers and Dutchmen,  
Come to stand by our Church-men,  
With hard grim Fellows from Fin land,  
The Old politic Whore,  
Now must never hope more,  
To sit brooding o'er Plots here against England.   

XXI.  
Is't not Reason and Sense,  
If a King will dispense,  
With our Statutes, and with his own word Sir,  
To decide the Just Cause,  
Of Religion and Laws,  
With a swinging Great Protestant-Sword Sir?   

XXII.  
The French Tyrant dissembles,  
And huffs, though he trembles,  
We shall Visit that Son of a Whore Sir:  
If the weather hold fair,  
We'd fain take a tower there,  
As our Fathers did in Days of Yore Sir.   

XXIII.  
While the Germans before,  
Pay him off his old score,  
For the mischief they've felt and do fear Sir,  
With Pipe, Sword and Pistol,  
We shall Probe his old Fistule,  
And charge the Dog home in the rear Sir.    

A New Song.  
To the Tune of, Couragio.  

I.  
COme, come, great Orange, come away,  
On thy August Voyagio,  
The Church and State admit no stay,  
And Protestants would once more say  
Couragio, Couragio, Couragio.   

II.  
Stand East, dear Wind, till they arrive,  
On their designed Voyagio,  
And let each Noble Soul alive  
Cry loud, Qu'il Prince d' Aurange vive!  
Couragio, &c.   

III.  
Look sharp, and see the Glorious Fleet,  
Appear in their Voyagio!  
With loud Huzza's we will them greet,  
And with both Arms and Armies meet;  
Couragio, &c.   

IV.  
Then, welcome to our English shore,  
And now I will engage— o,  
We'll thump the Babylonish Whore,  
And kick her Trump'ries out of Door;  
Couragio, &c.   

V.  
Poor B—k! how will thy Dear Joys,  
Oppose this brave Voyagio?  
Thy tallest Sparks will be mere Toys,  
To brandenburg and Swedish Boys;  
Couragio, &c.   

VI.  
D— n sputters now like mad,  
Against this great Voyagio;  
Old C— n too in Sable's clad,  
And F— m looks wondrous sad;  
Couragio, &c.   

VII.  
But Solmes has took a Glorious Cause,  
In this Warlike Voyagio,  
To Guard us from their Ravenous Paws,  
And to protect our Lives and Laws;  
Couragio, &c.   

VIII.  
Nassaw will ridicule the Fop,  
By this Belgic Voyagio,  
And make their gaudy feathers drop,  
Their slaughter's but a Harvest Crop:  
Couragio, &c.   

IX.  
Stirum, advance the Buda Blades,  
Thou'st brought in this Voyagio;  
And since thy laurel never fades,  
sand our Foes to the Stygian shades;  
Couragio, &c.   

X.  
Scombergh thunders Heroe-like,  
In this Stormy Voyagio;  
His very Name does horror strike,  
And will slay more than Gun or Pike;  
Couragio, &c.   

XI.  
Thus they the Victory will gain,  
After their brave Voyagio;  
And all our Liberties maintain,  
And settle Church and State again:  
Couragio, &c.   

XII.  
Then 'twill be Just, and no extreme,  
To see by this Voyagio,  
That Wem should have th' effect of's Dream,  
For Driving headlong with the Stream;  
Couragio, &c.   

XIII.  
The Judges too, that Traitors be,  
Must truss by this Voyagio,  
'twill be a Noble Sight to see,  
dispensing Scarlet on a three!  
Couragio, &c.   

XIV.  
The Monks away full swift will hye,  
On their dismal Voyagio;  
Ten Pounds a Post-Horse then they cry,  
And all away to Calis fly;  
Couragio, &c.   

XV.  
S— d has Shot the Pit,  
And is on his Voyagio;  
Dada must no more hatching sit,  
And Petre too the Board must quit:  
Couragio, &c.   

XVI.  
Old A— l does hang his Ears,  
Because of this Voyagio;  
And Miser P— s stews in Tears;  
B— sis roars, and damns, and swears:  
Couragio, &c.   

XVII.  
When all is done, we then shall hope  
To see, by this Voyagio,  
No more Nuncio, no more Pope,  
Except it be to have a Rope;  
Couragio, Couragio, Couragio.    

A new Song of an Orange.  
To that Excellent Old Tune Of a Pudding.  

GOOD People come buy,  
The Fruit that I cry,  
That now is in Season, tho' Winter is nigh,  
'twill do you all good,  
And sweeten your Blood,  
I'm sure it will please you when once understood  
'tis an Orange.  
Its Cordial Juice,  
Does much Vigour produce,  
I may well recommend it to every mans use;  
Tho' some it quiter chills,  
And with fear almost kills,  
Yet certain each honest Man benefit feels  
by an Orange.   

To make Claret go down,  
Sometimes there is found  
A Jolly good Health to pass pleasantly round;  
But yet I'll protest,  
Without any Jest,  
No flavour is better than that of the taste  
Of an Orange.   

Perhaps you may think,  
At White-H— they stink,  
Because that our Neighbours come over the Sea,  
Yet sure 'tis presumed,  
That they may be perfumed,  
By the scent of a Clove, when once it is stuck  
In an Orange.   

If they'd cure the ails  
Of the P— of w—  
When the Milk of milk tiler does not well agree,  
Tho he's subject to cast,  
They may better the taste,  
Yet let 'em take heed lest it Curdle at last  
With an Orange.   

Old Stories rehearse,  
In Prose and in Verse,  
How a Welsh Child was found by loving of Cheese;  
So this will be known,  
If it be the Q— own,  
For the taste it utterly then will disown  
Of an Orange.   

Tho the Mobile bawl,  
Like the Devil and all,  
For Religion, Property, Justice and Laws;  
Yet in very good soothe,  
I'll tell you the truth,  
There nothing is better to stop a mans mouth  
Than an Orange.   

We are certainly  told,  
That by Adam of old,  
Himself and his Bearns for an Apple was sold;  
And who knows but his Son,  
By Serpents undone,  
And his Juggling Eve may chance lose her own  
For an Orange.    

A New Song on the Calling of a Free Parliament, January 5th, 1688.  

I.  
A Parliament, with one consent  
Is all the cry oth' Nation,  
Which now may be, since Popery  
Is growing out of fashion:  
The belgic Troops approach to Town,  
The Oranges come Powring,  
And all the Lords agree as one  
To sand the Papists scouring.   

II.  
The Holy Man shall led the Van,  
Our Father and Confessor;  
In Robes of read the Jesuits fled,  
Who was the chief Transgressor.  
In this disguise he thought to escape,  
And hoped to save his Bacon,  
But H— he has laid a Trap,  
The Rat may be Retaken.   

III.  
The Nuncio too, the day may rue  
That he came over the Ocean,  
I'th' English Court, to keep's Resort,  
And teach his blind Devotion:  
The Prelates, Ellis, Smith, and Hall,  
Have sold their Coach and Horses,  
And will no longer in White-Hall  
Foment their learned Discouses.   

IV.  
The Groom o'th' Stool, that played the Fool,  
Full sorely will repent it,  
And S—, did barefoot stand  
For Pennance, shall lament it.  
M— and the Scotch are ●led,  
Whom hopes of Interest tempted;  
Those Lords did turn for want of Bread,  
And ought to be Exempted.   

V.  
But S—, what cause had he  
To fear his Highness Landing,  
Who by his A— s and Legs might pass  
For one of understanding.  
To take up Arms at such a time,  
Against the Rules were gave him;  
His Head must answer for the Crime,  
His Pardon will not save him.   

VI.  
The friars and Monks with all their punks,  
Are now upon the Scamper,  
●…— l Swears, and Rants and Tears,  
And Teague does make a clamper.  
The Foreign Priests that Posted o'er,  
Into the English Nation,  
●… o now repent that on that Shore  
They laid their weak Foundation.   

VII.  
Twou'd be a sight 't would move delight,  
In each obdurate Varlet,  
●… o see the Graves that made us Slaves,  
Hang in dispensing Scarlet.  
●… nd every Popish counsellor,  
That for the same Cause Pleaded,  
●… hall all turn off at the same score,  
Be hanged or else Beheaded    

●… he Second part of Lilli— li burlero Bullen a-la.  

I.  
BY Creist my dear Morish vat makes de sho'shad  
lil— li burlero bullen a-la.  
●… he heretics jeer us and mauke me Mad,  
●… ill— li burlero bullen a-la,  
●… ro, lero, lero, lero, lilli burlero bullen a-la,  
●… ro, lero, lero, lero, lilli burlero bullen a-la.   

II.  
Pox take me dear Teague but I am in a rage,  
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la,  
Poo' what Impidence is in dish Age?  
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la,  
Lero, Lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

III.  
Vat if Dush should come as dey hope,  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la,  
To up hang us for all de dispense of de Pope,  
Lilli burlero bullen a la,  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

IV.  
Dey shay dat T— l's a Friend to de Mash,  
Lilli burlero bullen a la,  
For which he's a Traitor, a Pimp, and an Ass,  
Lilli burlero bullen a la,  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

V.  
Ara' Plague tauke me now I make a Swar,  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la,  
I'd to Shent Tyburn will mauke a great Prayer,  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la;  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

VI.  
O'I will pray to Shaint Patricks Frock,  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la,  
Or to Loretto's Sacred Smock;  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la;  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

VII.  
Now a Pox tauke me, what dost dow think,  
●… illi burlero bullen a-la,  
De English Confusion to Popery drink,  
●… illi burlero bullen a-la;  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

VIII.  
●… nd by my should de Mash House pull down,  
●… illi burlero bullen a-la,  
While dey were Swearing de Mayor of do Town,  
●… illi burlero bullen a-la;  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

IX.  
O'Fait and be, I'll mauke de Decree,  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la,  
●… nd Swar by de Chancellor's modesty;  
Lilli burlero bullen a-la,  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.   

X.  
●… at I no longer in English will stay,  
●… illi burlero bullen a-la;  
●… or be goad day will hang us out of de way,  
●… illi burlero bullen a-la;  
Lero, lero, &c.  
Lero, lero, &c.    

The chancellor turned Tarpaulin.  
TO be a prisoner, hated, loathed, and scorned,  
With unlamented Plagues, thy fall unmourn'●…  
Under approaching Torments keenest Dread,  
And' midst a shouting Crowd unpitied lead,  
To meet a shameful Death, would seem t'atone  
All horrid villainies except thy own:  
But they so numerous, great and loud appear,  
They dull Repentance, as they heighten fear.  
cursed by your King, your Country, and it seems  
You're cursed too b● your own prophetic Dream●…  
cursed in your Novice Years and Indigence,  
When Railing was your Law and Eloquence.  
And cursed e'er since for Fraud and Bribery,  
Lying, Partiality, and Perjury.  
cursed by all People, prosperous and Forlorn,  
And will be cursed by thousands yet unborn.  
cursed by the Just and Virtuous, and what's wor●…  
You have your Fathers and your Childrens Curse▪  
Legions of Ghosts you've murdered will appear,  
And whisper, on the Gallows, in your Ear;  
Your byassed Judgment's given against the Good,  
That you might reek in money and in Blood.  
The Tyrant, when Perillus brought his Bull,  
Made the inventor prove the first sad Howl.  
Your Whipping so( tho late) should well be try  
( Which you found out) upon your bleeding Hid●…  
And thus condemned, you'll be rewarded well  
With Pill'ry, Carts-Tail, Gibbets, Flames and He●…  
And with your Quarters hurled into your Grave,  
Let this be wrote, I was both Fool and Knave,  
To Law and Drink a Scandal and a Slave.   

Stafford's Ghost, February 1681.  

IS this the heavenly Crown? Are these the Joys  
Which bellowing Priests did promise with such noise;  
Charming my Fears with such lewd Words as these,  
A Saint, a Martyr, Bliss, Eternal Ease?  
Such promised Glories were for meaner Deeds.  
He's trebly blessed by whom our Monarch bleeds.  
cursed Priests did me with other Fools delude,  
bribed with their Gifts of the Beatitude.  
Had I that Life so unadvis'dly lost,  
'tis not your fawning Jesuitish Host,  
Should e'er prevail on my misguided sense,  
To smother Guilt with Vows of Innocence:  
Nor thou, false Friend, as false to me or more,  
Then all thy Oaths for Coleman's Life before;  
With thy true catholic protesting Breath,  
shouldst e'er betray me to a pejur'd Death.  
Blinded with Zeal, what, did we once admire  
A sulphurous Soul, by Jesuits set on Fire;  
A Headstrong, Stupid, Rash bigoted P—  
declared the open Enemy to Sense.  
Weak are the Sacred Ties that should attend  
The Name of sovereign, Brother, and of Friend;  
This Pious Samson would with Joy over throw  
The Universe, and perish by the Blow;  
His Plots, tho known, yet will he never give over,  
But still intrigues with his dear Babel Whore;  
So much infected by that Fatal Bitch,  
He's all broken out in Scabby Zeal and Itch.  
Could we distinctly view his Tainted Soul,  
That all the relics of S— were small,  
compared with th'Scars of his P— Spiritual:  
'tis not the powerful Force of Jordan's Streams,  
Nor his dear Purgatorys cleansing Flames,  
Can e're remove from his polluted Soul:  
The least remains of a Disease so foul:  
You'll say, 'tis har● that such a one as he  
Should be deprived of Naamans Remedy;  
But there's distinction to be made, I hope,  
'Twixt those that worship Rimmon and the Pope.  
Amends for my intended Crimes I make,  
If Charles from his lethargic Sleep I wake,  
But such a Dose of opiates they have given  
To Rouse him were a Miracle for Heaven;  
I hope, tho when he hears what I can tell,  
Success may Crown my Embassy from Hell.  
I'll boldly name those that pursue his Life,  
And 'mongst his Subjects fester endless Strife;  
Their Friends and their Advisers I'll reveal,  
Those Holy Men that touched with pious Zeal,  
Are such Well-wishers to the Common Weal.   

Y— most beloved, and boldest Friend is he,  
Who knows he must succeed by Gadbury;  
Yet some with wonder are surprised to find  
Tha● in the Loyal Ague of his Mind,  
His hot Fit comes in such a proper time,  
Whose could one thought the Covenant no Crime.  
The next a Slave to his Ambitious Pride,  
Must be the chief, tho of the falling side.  
This hot-brained Machiavel once vainly striven,  
For what he ne're can hope the Peoples Love.  
But foiled he flies for Refuge to the Throne,  
Trusting to th' Bladders of his Wit alone,  
Without one Honest Thought to fix them on.   

The Third a Wrack of the divided Chits.  
Better than Jilting Whore he Counterfeits;  
But not his treacherous Eyes dissolved in Tears,  
Nor the false Vizard his Ambition wears,  
Can blind the World, or hid what must be seen,  
His Practices with J— and Maz— n.  
Vote on, poor Fools! ye Commons vent your Spleen  
Sure France and I— are a sufficient Screen:  
A Tax at home's a Project Old and Dull.  
He'll find new ways to keep the Coffers Full:  
The French shall some of our fled Gold restore,  
They suck like Leeches, but they ruin more  
When they spew back part of th' infected Ore:  
Tis his Contrivance too, by Change of Air,  
To ease our Monarch of his Fears and Care  
They jointly toil to make thy burden light,  
Knowing that Quiet is thy chief Delight,  
They therefore hast and hurry thee to fight.  
No Matter C— thy Enemies they'l fright,  
One Stamps, one Talks, one Weeps thy foes to fligh●,  
I come( dread Lord) from the dark Shades below  
To give thee timely notice of the Blow.  
Which thou mayst yet prevent; think well of those  
Whom now( mistaken) you believe your Foes.  
They who against your Will would fix your Crown,  
Giving your Riches, Happiness, Renown;  
Which Metamorphose should accepted be,  
Because redeemed from Want and Infamy.  
( Observe poor Wanderer, how thou walk'st alone,  
Might is the Atlas that supports thy Throne)  
hast to comply, defer it not too long,  
Thou canst not stem a Current that's so strong.  
Trust to th' Affections of thy Britains bold,  
Give them but leave thy Honour to uphold;  
Tho Bessus, yet a Caesar thou mayst be,  
oppressed with Trophies of their Victory.    

On the D— ss of P— th's Picture, Sept. 1682.  
WHO can on this Picture look,  
And not straight be wonder strook,  
That such a peaking doudy thing,  
Should make a Beggar of a King?  
Three happy Nations turn to Tears,  
And all their former Love to Fears;  
ruin the Great, and raise the Small,  
Yet will by turns betray 'em All  
Lowly born, and meanly bread,  
Yet of this Nation is the Head:  
For half Whitehall make her their Court,  
Tho th' other half make her their sport.  
Monmouth's Tamer, Jeffery's Advance,  
Foe to England, spy for France;  
False and foolish, proud and bold,  
Ugly as you see, and Old.  
In a word, her mighty Grace  
Is Whore in all things but her Face.   

All Shams.  
To the Tune of, Packington's Pound.  

I.  
AN Invasion from Dutchland is all the discourse,  
And incredible Tale of Incredible force!  
While each graver Sir Pol unfolded his Sheet,  
An exact Computation of Army and Fleet:  
Of their Horse and their Foot,  
And their Great Guns to boot,  
Each Fireship, each Tender, and flat-bottomed Boat;  
The time of their Landing, and place, can reveal,  
But that, as a secret, as yet he'l conceal.   

II.  
While each busie-brain'd Machanie, and Fool,  
Each chattering Barber, each Aporn and Rule;  
Let his private concern be of ne'er so much weight,  
And nought but his Trade he can call his Estate:  
Yet strait he declares,  
It has long been his Fears,  
He dreaded this business for several Years:  
Nay, the future events he could easily relate;  
But 'tis dangerous, Neighbours, and touches the State.   

III.  
Now while we are hearing and telling of lies,  
A Cloud from the West does quiter darken the Skies:  
All Aegypt's ten Plagues do at once on us fall,  
For, in Naming the Irish, it comprehends all:  
To what purpose they come  
Is no secret to Rome;  
And, to guess at the consequence, we may presume:  
Old England was ne're so unhappy before,  
While the Scum of three Nations for aid we Implore.   

IV.  
Now lay by chimaeras of Fleets, and Armados,  
And, if you can, fairly march off to Barbadoes,  
Jamaica, Virginia, or any Plantation,  
Except that of Will Pen, the disturber o'th' Nation;  
To Lapland, or Greenland,  
Nay sail into Finland,  
To Presbyter John, or the Islands within Land:  
And leave both your Honors, Estates and your Wives,  
On condition that you may depart with your Lives.    

Fumbumbis. or the North-Country-Mayor. A Ballad.  
To the Tune of, Packinton's Pound.  

I Sing of no Heretic, Turk, or of Tartar,  
But a suffering Mayor, who may pass for a Martyr;  
For a story so Tragic was never yet  told  
By Fox, or by Stow, those Authors of old:  
How a vile Lansprezado,  
Did a Mayor Bastinado,  
And played him a Trick worse than a strappado.  
Oh Mayor, Mayor, thou hadst better never Transub'd,  
Than thus to be tossed in a Blanket, and drub'd.   

II.  
All laughed to behold this Saint of a Mayor  
To heaven assumed on a Colstaff of Air;  
From the Earth to the Skies they removed his station,  
So quick, you'd have thought it Transubstantiation:  
Our heretics boast,  
He for turning was tossed,  
And sent up, to catch the Religion h' had lost.  
Oh Mayor, Mayor, &c.   

III.  
Not Quixot himself was ever less daunted  
For charging the windmills, or giants enchanted.  
A mind so resolved what danger could threaten?  
' The Hero's the same, whether beat or is beaten:  
And the Cudgels and Stones  
May bruise and break Bones;  
Tis the manner of Kicking for Kicking attones.  
Oh Mayor, Mayor, &c.   

IV:  
The various Effects of his Worship's disgrace  
Might have spoiled the Bel-Air of a modester Face;  
But such an assurance his cause does admit,  
He discovers as little of shane, as of wit:  
For, besides the expense,  
would one Post from thence  
To prove himself such a Poltroon to his Prince!  
Oh Mayor, Mayor, thou' d'st better have never Transub'd  
Than thus to be tossed in a Blanket and Drub'd!    

Essay written over his Door upon an Institution and Induction.  

I.  
'tis a strange thing to think on  
That old Tom of Lincoln,  
Who writ for the Reformation,  
should so basely submit,  
Without honor, or Wit,  
To the Reading the Declaration.   

II.  
Who ever takes Order  
From this Satan-Recorder,  
And thinks to go out a Divine,  
Will find it a Folly  
To expect the Ghost Holy,  
'tis the Devil that enters the Swine    

A new Song of the Times, 1683.  

I.  
'twere folly for ever  
The Whiggs to endeavour  
Disowning their Plots, when all the World knows'um;  
Did they not fix  
On a Council of Six,  
Appointed to Govern tho no Body choose' um.  
They that bore sway,  
Knew not one would Obey  
Did Trincalo make such a ridiculous pother;  
Monmouth's the Head,  
To strike Monarchy dead,  
They choose themselves Vice-Roys all o'er one another.   

II.  
Was't not a damned thing,  
For R— and H—,  
To serve all the Projects of Hot-headed Tony;  
But much more untoward  
To appoint my Lord H—  
With his own Purse and credit to raise Men and Money  
That at Knightsbridge did hid  
Those brisk Boys unspy'd  
Who at Shaftsbury's Whistle were ready to follow;  
And when Aid he should bring,  
Like a true Branford King.  
Was here with a Whoop and gone with a hollow.   

III.  
Algernoon Sidney,  
Of Common-Wealth Kidney,  
composed a damned Libel( ay mary was it)  
Writ to occasion  
Ill Blood in the nation,  
And therefore dispersed it all over his Closet:  
It was not the Writing  
Was proved or Indicting;  
Tho he urged Statutes, what was it but fooling,  
Since a new Trust is  
placed in the Chief Justice,  
To damn Law and Reason too by over-ruling.   

IV.  
What if a traitor,  
In spite of the State Sir,  
Should cut his own Throat from one Ear to the other?  
Shall then a new freak  
Make Braddon and Speak  
To be more concerned than his Wife or his Brother;  
A razor all Bloody  
Thrown out of a Study  
Is Evidence strong of his desperate guilt, Sir;  
So Godfrey, when dead,  
Full of horror and dread,  
Run his Sword thro' his Body up to the Hilt Sir.   

V.  
Who can think the case hard  
Of Sir P— w—,  
That loved his just Rights more than those of his Highness.  
Oh Disloyal Ears,  
As on Record appears,  
Not to hear when to do the Papists a kindness.  
An Old doting Citt.  
With his Elizabeth Wit,  
Against the French Mode for freedom to hope on  
His Ears that  told lies  
Were less dull than his Eyes,  
For both them were shut when all others were open.   

VI.  
All Europe together  
Can't show such a Father  
So tenderly nice of his Sons Reputation,  
As our good King is  
To labour to bring his,  
By tricks to subscribe to a shame Declaration.  
'twas very good reason  
To pardon his Treason,  
To Obey( not his own, but) his Brothers Command, Sir,  
To merit whose grace,  
He must in the first place  
Confess he's a villain under his hand Sir.   

VII.  
Since Fate the Court blesses,  
With daily successses,  
And giving up Charters go round for a frolic  
Whilst our D— Nero,  
The Churches blind Hero,  
By Murders is planting his Faith apostolic,  
Our Modern Sages,  
More wise than past Ages  
Think ours to Establish by Popish Successors,  
Queen Bess never thought it,  
And Cecil forgot it,  
But 'tis lately found out by our prudent Addressors.    

A heroic Scene. Enter Oliver's Porter, fiddler, and Poet in Bedlam.  The Scene adorned with several of the Poets own Flowers, known by the Itallick Character. Porter. 
O Glory! Glory! who are these appear?  
My Fellow-Servants, Poet, fiddler here?  
Old Hodge the Constant, Johnny the Sincere.  
Who sent you hither? And pray tell me why  
An horrid silence does Invade mine Eye,  
While not one sound of Voice from you I spy.  Johnny. 
I come to let thee know, the time is now  
To turn and fawn, and flatter as we do,  
And follow that which does too fast pursue.  
Be wise, neglect your Interest now no more;  
Interest! The Prince we serve, the God w' adore.  
I for the Royal Martyr first declared;  
But, e're his Head was off, I was prepared  
To own the Rump, and for that Cause did rhyme;  
But those kicked out, next Moment turned to him  
Who routed them: called him my sovereign,  
And praised his opening of a Kingly Vein.  Hodge. 
I by my lowering Planets was accursed  
To be for barren Loyalty at first;  
But when to Nolls, our Charles's fate gave place,  
I could abjure the Unhappy Royal Race:  
To Noll I all my fingers skill did show,  
And charmed his Highness with my nimble Bow.  
Besides, I served him as a faithful Spy,  
And did decoy the Cavalierish Fry;  
Gold from his bounteous Highness charmed my Eyes,  
My old Whore Balt Gl— ss could ne're suffice  
For the expense and Equipage of spies.  Johnny. 
Come join with us to make our Party strong,  
And you can never be in Bedlam long.  Hodge. 
Were you yet Madder you might serve the state,  
And be concerned in things of greatest weight.  Johnny. 
For( as Turks their Santons) we adore  
The Fools and Madmen, and their aid implore:  
They're such who share my panegyric Verse,  Hodge. 
To such I writ, not to Philosophers.  Porter. 
Such frequent turns should you to Bedlam bring  
From Rump to cronwell, cronwell to the King;  
Then to your Idol Church, next to the Pope,  
Which may one day prefer you to the Rope:  
I amongst Madmen am confined 'tis true,  
But I have more solidity than you.  Johnny. 
A Windmill is not fickle; for we find  
That it is always constant to the Wind:  
I never change; I'm still to Interest true;  
The conqueror ever does my Muse subdue;  
And with whatever Tossing she shall meet,  
She, like a Cat, shall light upon her feet.  Hodge. 
How long did I writ for the English Church,  
Yet now think fit to leave her in the lurch:  
Like Will o'th'-Wispe th' inferior Clergy I  
lead into Quagmires, where I let them lye;  
Some into bogs and Ditches I have cast,  
Where let them flounder what they will, they're fast:  
So far Crape-Gown is plunged into the mire,  
It is not possible it should retire.  Porter. 
My Spirit boils within my troubled Breast,  
These Rogues are come to interrupt my rest.  Johnny. 
When the Exalted Whiggs were in their  
I spent my oil and Labour on their side.  
Wrote a Whigg Play, and Shaftsbury out-ran;  
For all my Maxims were Republican;  
For the Excluding-Bill I did declare,  
libeled and railed, and did no Monarch spare:  
When they began to droop I faced about,  
And with my Pen I damned the Whiggish rout.  
Nay every turn before-hand I can find,  
As your sagacious Hog foresees the Wind.  Hodge. 
You nimbly turn to that which does prevail,  
No Seaman e're could sooner shift his Sail,  Johnny. 
Like a true Renegado still I maul  
The party I forsook with utmost gull.  Hodge. 
So I ere long shall damn the heretic Souls  
Of my old Comrade Coffee-Priests near Pauls.  
Spies upon all their Pulpits I maintain,  
And if of Rome, or Slavery they complain,  
Or for their own against our Church they Preach;  
I roar as if they did Sedition Teach;  
I brand the Person with most venomous Lies  
If I want Truth, Invention still supplies.  Johnny. 
But a reserve I kept for Monmouth still,  
Should he prevail, I with such equal skill  
With Satyr-mingled praise he could not take it Ill.  
And had that Prince Victorious been at Lime,  
I the Black-Box had justified in rhyme.  
I was prepared to praise or to abhor him,  
satire I had and panegyric for him.  [ pox. 
aside.] Oh feed of Locusts, from the Infernal Lake  
You'l cause my anger and I'll make you quake.  Hodge. 
Long my sly pen served Rome, and I achieved  
Ample Rewards, whole shoals of Priests deceived.  
I wrought with such Imperceptible Tools,  
That I of heaps of Guineas guil'd those Fools:  
The only Bubbles in the World they be,  
Who, to their cost, must feel before they see:  
In public yet the English Church I own,  
Tho' I am subtly Writing of it down;  
For yet it is not time I should declare  
Lest Fools, to whom I writ, should be ware.  Johnny. 
Men best themselves 'gainst open foes defend,  
But perish surely by a seeming Friend;  
One Son turned me, I turned the other two;  
But had not an Indulgence, Sir, like you;  
I felt my Purse insensibly consume  
Till I had openly declared for Rome.  Hodge. 
Now fellow Servant pray at length be wise  
And follow our Example and Advice.  Porter. 
What! turn to Rome, who did our City burn?  
And would our Ancient Government o'return?  Hodge. 
Hold! Is not the Inscription blotted out?  pox. 
Therefore who burnt the City none need doubt.  Johnny. 
It was Almighty Fire from heaven came down  
To punish the Rebellious stiff-neck'd Town;  
All which had perished in devouring flames,  
Tho on the fire y'had emptied all the Thames;  
Had all its Waves been on the Houses tost,  
It had but basted them as they did roast;  
But Heaven a crystal Pyramid did take,  
Of that a broad Extinguisher did make  
In Firmamental Waters dipped above,  
To Hood the Flames which to their Quarry striven.  Porter. 
A Pyramid Extinguisher to Hood!  
'tis Nonsense never to be understood.  hood. 
What, you believe the Plot of Varlet oats?  pox. 
Ten Proclamations and Four Senates Votes.  John. 
That Godfreys Life was by the Papists sped?  pox. 
Oh, No! He killed himself when he was dead.  hood. 
To Jesuits dying you will Credit give.  pox. 
Yes! full as much as all the while they live.  
But dying Protestants I'll not believe,  
For they allow of neat Equivocation,  
And of flat Lies, with Mental Reservation.  John. 
Hark Hodge: To gain him we in vain contend,  
Our Fellow Servant is a wag, dear Friend.  Hodge. 
I'll try him farther; for his Parts are such,  
To bring him o'er must needs a veil us much,  
Who are for Rome& France 'gainst th' English& the Dutch.  
Come Fellow Servant, you blieve our Plot  
Of Russel, H— n, sidney, and what not?  
Of B—, Walcot, of Bow-steeple and the Rye  pox. 
For R— l would, but H— n would not lye,  
Rumbald and Walcot too did both deny  
Ayloff to boot; but Cowards are not brave;  
For Fear's a Passion which all Cowards have:  
Yet to the Plot I firm belief afford,  
Of th' Evidence I credit not one word.  Johnny. 
Can you distrust what G— and E— say?  Port. 
What! two such Excellent Moral Men as they!  hood. 
Others there are swore home as Men could do.  pox. 
Who for their Lives must swear home 'tis true.  
Against the Popish Crew none ever swore  
But a full Pardon he obtained before;  
These Swearers are like Cormorants, for they,  
On Whiggs with ropes about their gullets prey.  John. 
What then? will you not be to Interest true?  
We both are of the same belief with you;  
But we know better what we have to do.  pox. 
aside. Did ever Hell sand such a brace of Knaves;  
Such abject Cowards, Mercenary Slaves!  Exit frowning. John. 
His looks are wild, his fiery Eye-balls roll,  
A Raging Tempest's labouring in his Soul.  
Let's prudently retire.  
Porter Re-enters with a great Bible given him by nel G.  pox. 
You sneaking Rogues would you be gone?  
Here's that shall knock both you and Popery down.  He knocks them down with the Bible, and stamps upon them, they get up. Hodge. 
Rash Man! for this I full revenge will take,  
And set our Evidence upon your back.  John. 
Audacious Fool, how dare you tempt your fate?  
Provokipg me a Pillar of the State,  
Who with my Pen alone have turned the Scale,  
And made the Tories o'er the Whiggs prevail?  Hodge. 
Your Pen alone!—  
Can I this Arrogance endure to hear,  
would you usurp the Garland I should wear?  Johnny. 
You with your Forty Eight, and Forty One,  
With Screws and Antipendiums plagued the Town;  
While even the Whiggs admired my lofty Verses,  
Your Witless Prose did Fodder Torys Arses.  Hodge. 
I'll through your Arse touch Honour to the quick,  
And find if you have any by this kick. Kicks the Poet.  Johnny. 
Kick on, old Fool, till you your Toes shall maul,  
I have had several, and can bear them all:  
Besides, I'm used to't—  Porter. 
Hence you wretched Slaves,  
There is Contagion in such Fools and Knaves.  
I'll wring your Necks off, if you ever more  
Presume to set your feet within this door:  
I 'm Chief, and have Dominion in this place.  Johnny. 
I'll spend my gushing blood upon thy Face;  
And if thou darest effect thy dire Design  
With my two Hands I'll fling my Head at thine.  Porter. 
Holloa St. Dennis, have at you.  Johnny. 
Murder, Murder! He kicks and beats them, they run roaring out.  Hodge. 
Help, Help!  Porter. 
I on these Knaves shall never more complain,  
They have called back my wandring sense again.  He pauses, and seems to come to himself. 
Of all Mankind, happy alone are we,  
From all Ambition, from all Tumults free:  
No Plots nor vile Informers need we fear;  
No Plagues, nor Tortures for Religion here.  
Our Thoughts, nay even our ver● words are free,  
Not damned by Fines, or loss of Liberty;  
None here's impeached by a vile Table spy,  
Who with an Innuendo backs his lie;  
Words and Lampoons we laugh at, and ne're care  
What's said by Men, if Actions they forbear;  
Anger at words is weakness understood,  
Since none can Ridicule ought that is good;  
'tis Womanish, and springs from Impotence,  
For no great Man at words e're took Offence.  
At Rome, in all her Glory, words were free;  
Just Governments can never Jealous be;  
But when to Tyranny Rome did decline,  
hypocondriac Emperours with Delatores join  
To plague the people, and themselves undo;  
For when they're feared they must be hated too.  
And whom Men hate with Ruin they'll pursue.  
One Witness and a Circumstance for Facts,  
Is not enough; we must prove Overt Acts.  
Our happy Government makes no Offence,  
But open and Rebellious Violence.  
Which we to quell no standing Army need,  
Nor can Dragoons upon free Quarter feed;  
Booted Apostles we have none, that come  
To knock and beat Men to the Church of Rome;  
When its Butt-end prevails not, Torments will,  
For Lewis is not yet so Merciful to kill.  
Here we divided from the troubled World,  
Rest and are into no Confusions hurled;  
For all our wants does our wise State provide  
Here every Vacant place is still supplied,  
With Persons that are duly qualified;  
No favour raises a Desertless Knave,  
Nor Infamy, nor yet the Gold he gave.  
How would all Subjects envy us, should we  
Publish the secrets of our Hierarchy?   

The True Way to Honour.  

I.  
●… Ou'd you ( Sir) attain that Honour,  
Favourites neither know nor mind,  
●… ch under Vertue's Noble Banner,  
Change not Faith with each Court Wind.  
●… ther pray to Saint nor Lady,  
Their Religion's but a Jest,  
●… o kneel down to a painted Baby,  
●… orshipping the Roman Beast.   

II.  
●… y in the Youth yet interested,  
●… hat's a point I can't reach,  
●… se Monarchs have the Sparks addressed,  
●… ●ust that belief and Duty teach?  
〈…〉, since we may not dispute that matter,  
This I hope will be confessed,  
●… o build their Faith on Holy Water,  
●… orship to the Roman Beast.   

III.  
●… ort, the best way to promotion,  
●… to make the Laws your Rule,  
●… truckle to such blind Devotion,  
●… hich does Religion ridicule.  
●… at tho their Cause a while prevails,  
●… ick you to that endures the Test,  
●… hem cry up their P— of w—,  
●… ho worship to the Roman Beast.    

A New Litany.  
To the Tune of, Cook Lawrei invited the Devil his Guest, &c.  

FRom Jesuitical Polls, who proudly Expose  
The only Bulwark 'twixt them, and their Foe  
To Ramble i'th' Night to see Rare shows;  
For ever Good Lord deliver m●…   

From a Pious Wise K— who lets his reign pass,  
In raising of Villains, and hearing of Mass,  
All whose designs still prove but mine A—;  
For ever, &c.   

Who is rid, and imposed on, by many a score  
Of Priests Mac's, and Footmen, his Q. and his W●…  
Who to make his Foes Rich, will make his Frien●…  
For ever, &c.   

Who without doing business still o'er it does Bu●… Poo●…  
Takes always wrong Measures in all that he do●…  
As preposterous in State as H— in's clothes;  
For ever, &c.   

Who has made his Religion a Ridiculous Jest,  
And sells all his Friends to buy off the Test,  
Yet gives it his Servants from biggest to least;  
For ever, &c.   

From a P— ce in whose word and promise no trus●…  
And a Court without Conscience, Honour and Just●…  
Who's business, Pride, Flattry, interest, and Lust  
For ever, &c.   

From a blinking Confessor, as free of his Word,  
And as slacken in performance as his disciplined Lord,  
Whose Merits in time may meet with a Cord;  
For ever, &c.   

●… rom Petres that positive politic Sage,  
Who shams upon heaven, and comforts his Age,  
〈…〉 filling his Coffers, and Bugg'ring his page.;  
For ever, &c.   

●… rom a Turn-coat, Mail-setting, King-killing Rascal,  
Who spite of those villainies, which he's past all,  
〈…〉 become a Kings Favourite, even from a Stall;  
For ever, &c.   

●… rom a Hosier preferred before all the State blocks,  
●… rom Preaching in Tubs, and footing of Socks,  
●… nd giving Quack Bills to cure the Pox;  
For ever, &c.   

●… ho had hanged in Hones stead with a handsomer face,  
●… nd the Joiner had gained the counsellors place,  
〈…〉 to impeach first he had had but the Grace;  
For ever, &c.   

●… rom a Nation, which now in so woeful a case is,  
●… o be called by Church Cheats, and Jesuitical Clashes,  
●… ho their politics learn from whipping boys A—  
For ever, &c.    

Epitaph on the Lord Fairfax, by the Duke of Buckingham.  

UNder this ston does lie,  
One Born for Victory;  
●… airfax the Valiant, and the only He,  
Who e'er for that alone a Conqueror would be.  
Both Sexes virtues were in him combined:  
He had the Fierceness of the Manliest Mind,  
And eke the Meekness too of Woman-kind.  
He never knew what Envy was, or Hate:  
His Soul was filled with wrath, and Honesty;  
And with another thing, quiter out of date,  
called Modesty:   

II.  
He never seemed Imputent, but in the Field; a Plac●…  
Where Impudence itself dares seldom show her Face  
Had any stranger spied him in the Room  
With some of those whom he had overcome,  
And had not heard their Talk, but only seen  
Their gesture and their mean,  
They would have sworn he had the vanquished bee●…  
For as they bragged, and dreadful would appear●…  
While they their own ill lucks in War repeated,  
His Modesty still made him blushy, to hear  
How often he had them Defeated.   

III.  
Through his whole Life, the Part he bore  
Was Wonderful, and Great,  
And yet, it so appeared in nothing more,  
Than in his private last retreat:  
For it's astranger thing, to find  
One Man of such a Glorious mind  
As can dismiss the power h' has got,  
Than Millions of the Polls and Braves,  
Those despicable Fools and Knaves,  
Who such a Pother make,  
Through dullness and mistake  
In seeking after power, but get it not.   

IV.  
When all the Nation he had won,  
●… nd with expense of Blood had bought,  
Store great enough he thought  
Of famed and of Renown;  
He then his Arms laid down,  
With full as little Pride  
●… s if he had been of his Enemies side,  
●… r one of them could do that were undone:  
He neither Wealth, nor Places sought;  
For others, not himself, he Fought.  
He was content to know,  
For he had found it so,  
●… hat, when he pleased, to Conquer, he was able,  
●… nd left the Spoil and Plunder to the Rabble:  
He might have been a King;  
But that he understood  
●… owe much it is a meaner thing  
●… o be unjustly Great, than honourably good.   

V.  
●… his, from the World, did Admiration draw,  
●… nd, from his Friends, both Love and Awe,  
●… emembring what in Fight he did before:  
And his Foes loved him too,  
As they were bound to do,  
●… ecause he was resolved to Fight no more,  
〈…〉, blessed of all, he died; but far more blessed were we,  
〈…〉 we were sure to live, till we could see  
〈…〉 Man as Great in War, in Peace as Just, as he.    

A Match, between the keen razor, and the dull Ax, 1683. Occasioned b●… the death of the Lord Russel and th●… E. of Essex.  

TEN Pounds to a Crown,( who will make th●… match●…  
On Bomini's head, against Squire Catch;  
Whose Instrument shall make most quick dispatch.  
The Noble razor, or this Ax  
In Bulk,( perhaps) not Virtue, lacks;  
Which, by rare slight of hand, can do  
More at one stroke, than that at two:  
So Gems are precious, which unite  
In little Orbs, great Rays of Light:  
More subtle than th' enchanted Sword,  
Which slay twice over  
The Knight, once slain before;  
For thou couldst kill,  
Against thy will,  
And his, and ours, a Noble Lord.   

II.  
Dead doing Tool! surely just Fate  
Will dub thee now the Ax of State;  
If first the grateful Heav'ns shall not Translate  
The thither, to maintain  
The Regiment of C— his Wain.  
But gentle Muse, I pray thee tell,  
What made that Hack, this Shave so well:  
And why the dapper Monsieur can  
Out-do the heavy Englishman?  
Did the old Ax, on that great day,  
It went away  
To Rome, to be enshrined,  
●… teal all the Steel; and only Iron leave behind?  
Or did the Hone  
●… harpen the razor, to the Ax give none?   

III.  
Wou'd you this Riddle understand;  
Distinguish 'twixt the Butcher's clumsy Hand,  
And the invisible Command,  
Divines allow, the unseen Powers  
May wonders work; and why not ours,  
Whether on Scaffolds, or in Towers?  
All you, whose Lot  
It once may be to go to Pot,  
When e'er the State shall hit your Blot;  
And you whose Heads by sullen Fates  
Are doomed to fall at these hard rates:  
Pray use your Barbers cheaper Art,  
●… nd let your bungling Butchers bear no Part.  
Now, for a curious Youth to cut your Throats,  
Who( on occasion fine, and neat)  
Will do the clever Feat;  
●… et trusty Monsieur preingage your ready Votes.    

A New Litany in the Year, 1684.  

FRom Immoderate Fines and defamation,  
From Braddons Pennyless Subornation,  
●… nd from a Bar of Assassination,  
Libera nos, &c.   

From a Lawyer that scolds like an Oyster Wench,  
From an English Body, and a Mind that is French,  
And from the new Bonner upon the Bench,  
Libera nos, &c.   

From the Partial Preaching that is now in Fashion,  
From Divinity to undo a Nation,  
From Wooden Shoes, and Transubstantiation,  
Libera nos, &c.   

From the Nonsencial cant of a Loyal Addressor  
From the Impudent Shams of Popish Professor,  
And from Protestant Zeal in a Popish Successor,  
Libera nos, &c.   

From all those Esau's within their Nonage,  
That would both our Laws and Liberties Forage,  
And sell their Birthright for a Mess of a Court Pottage,  
Libera nos, &c.   

From Juries that murder do Justice call,  
And undoing of Men a Matter but small,  
And from the Star-Chamber in Westminster-Hall,  
Libera nos, &c.    

The Fable of the Pot and Kettle, as it was  told by colonel Titus the Night before he kissed the Kings Hand.  
AS down the Torrent of an angry Flood,  
An Earthen Pot, and a Brass Kettle flowed;  
The heavy cauldron, sinking and distressed  
〈…〉 his own Weight, and the fierce believes oppressed,  
Slily bespoke the lighter Vessels Aid;  
And to the Earthen Pitcher friendly said,  
Come, Brother, why should we divided lose  
The strength of Union, and ourselves expose  
To the Insults of this poor paltry Stream,  
Which with united Forces we can stem?  
Tho different heretofore have been our Parts,  
The Common Danger reconciles our Hearts;  
Here, lend me thy kind Arm to break the Flood.  
The Pitcher this New Friendship understood,  
●… nd made this Answer; Tho I wish for Ease  
And Safety, this Alliance does not please;  
●… such different Natures never will agree,  
●… our Constitution is too rough for me;  
〈…〉 by the Waves I against you am tost,  
Or you to me, I equally am lost;  
●… nd fear more Mischief from your hard-end-side,  
Than from the Shores, the Billows, or the Tide:  
〈…〉 calmer Days and ebbing Waves attend,  
Rather than buoy you up, and serve your end,  
To perish by the Rigor of my Friend.   

The Moral.  
LEarn hence( ye Whigs) and act no more like Fools,  
Nor trust their Friendship who would make you Tools;  
While empty Praises and smooth Flatt'rys serve;  
Pay with feigned Thanks, what their feigned smiles deserve:  
But let not the Alliance farther pass,  
For know that you are day, and they are Brass.   

Epitaph on Harry Care.  
A True Dissenter here does lie indeed,  
He never with any, or himself agreed;  
But rather than want subjects to his spite,  
would Snake-like turn, and his own Tail would bite.  
Sometime, 'tis true, he took the faster side,  
But when he came by suffering to be tried,  
The Craven soon betrayed his Fear and Pride:  
Thence, Settle-like, he to recanting fell  
Of all he wrote, or fancied to be well;  
Thus purged from good; and thus prepared by evil,  
He faced to Rome, and marched off to the Devil.   

A New Way to Honour.  

would you be a Man of Honour,  
would you be advanced to Place,  
Take Measures from good Bishop Bonner,  
And Maxims from Tyrconnel's Grace?  
Pray to a Lady that can hear ye;  
Who, as She's Greatest, is the Best;  
Your svit is granted, never fear ye,  
If you'l worship to the Est.   

II.  
Next in her Son get interested,  
That's a Point must be believed;  
Mighty Kings have been Addressed,  
Monarchs cannot be deceived.  
Come, come, never dispute the Matter,  
That Religion must be best,  
Which purges sin with Holy Water,  
Therefore worship to the Est,   

III.  
In short, if you would gain Promotion,  
Do as Holy Church Commands,  
Be constantly at her Devotion,  
And serve her with your Heart and Hands:  
Tis our Religion now prevails,  
Therefore still maintain the Jest,  
Swear Fealty to the P— of w—  
And worship always to the Est.    

A Lenten Prologue refused by the Players, 1682.  
OUr Prologue-Wit grows flat: the Naps worn off;  
And howsoe'er We turn, and trim the Stuff,  
The Gloss is gone, that looked at first so gaudy;  
'tis now no Jest to hear young Girls talk bawdy.  
But Plots, and Parties give new matter birth;  
And State Distractions serve you here for mirth!  
At England's cost Poets now purchase famed  
While Factious Heats destroy us, without shane  
These wanton Neroes fiddle to the flamme.  
The Stage, like old Rump pulpits, is become  
The Scene of News, a furious Party's Drum.  
Here Poets beat their Brains for Volunteers,  
And take fast hold of Asses by their Ears.  
Their jingling rhyme for Reason here ●ou swallow;  
Like Orpheus music makes Beasts to follow.  
What an enlightening Grace is want of Bread?  
How it can change a Libeller's Heart,& clear a Head! Laureats Medal. p. 41.  
Open his Eyes till he the Mad Prophet see  
Plots working in a future power to be  
Traitors unform'd to his Second Sight are clear;  
And Squadrons here, and Squadrons there appear;  
Rebellion is the Burden of the Seer.  
To Bays in Vision were of late revealed  
Whigg Armies, that at Knights bridge lay concealed.  
And tho no mortal Eye could see't before R●her. come. p. 31. Rehears. Comedy p. 52.  
The battle was just entering at the Door!  
A dangerous Association— signed by None!  
The joiners Plot to seize the King alone!  
Stephen with College made this Dire compact;  
The watchful Irish took 'em in the Fact—  
Of riding armed! Oh traitorous Overt Act!  
With each of 'em an ancient Pistol sided;  
Against the Statute in that Case provided.  
But why was such an Host of Swearers prest?  
Their succour was ill Husbandry at best.  
Bays's crowned Muse by Sovereign Right of satire,  
Without desert can dub a man a Traitor.  
And Toryes, without troubling Law, or Reason,  
By Loyal Instinct can find Plots and Treason.  
But here's our Comfort, though they never scan  
The Merits of the Cause, but of the Man,  
Our gracious Statesmen vow not to forsake  
Law— that is made by Judges whom they Make.  
Behind the Curtain, by Court-Wires, with ease  
Thy turn those pliant Puppets as they please.  
With frequent Parliaments our hopes they feed,  
Such shall be sure to meet— but when there's Need.  
When a sick State, and sinking Church call for 'em,  
Then 'tis our Tories most of all abhor' em.  
Then prayer, that Christian Weapon of defence,  
Grateful to Heaven, at Court is an Offence,  
If it dare speak th' untamper'd Nations sense.  
Nay Paper's Tumult, when our Senates cease;  
And some Mens Names alone can break the Peace.  
Petitioning disturbs the kingdoms Quiet;  
As choosing honest Sheriffs makes a riot.  
To punish Rascals, and bring France to Reason,  
Is to be hot, and press things out of Season;  
And to damn Popery is Irish Treason.  
To love the King, and Knaves about him hate,  
Is a fanatic Plot against the State.  
To screen his Person from a Popish Gun  
Has all the mischief in't of Forty One.  
To save our Faith, and keep our Freedom's Charter,  
Is once again to make a Royal Martyr.  
This logic is of Tory's deep inditing  
The very best they have— but Oaths, and Fighting.  
Let 'em then chime it on, if 'twill oblige ye,  
And Roger vapour over us in effigy.  
Let 'em in Ballads give their folly Vent,  
And sing up Nonsense to their Hearts content.  
If for the King( as All's pretended) they  
Do here drink Healths, and curse, sure we may pray,  
Heaven once more keep him then for Healing Ends,  
Safe from old Foes— but most from his new Friends!  
Such Protestants as prop a Popish Cause,  
And Loyal Men, that break all Bounds of Laws!  
Whose Pride is with his Servants Salaries fed,  
And when they've scarce left him a Crust of Bread,  
Their corrupt Fathers foreign Steps to follow,  
Cheat even of scraps, and that last Sop would swallow.  
French Fetters may this Isle no more endure;  
Spite of Rome's Arts stand England's Church secure,  
Not from such Brothers as desire to mend it,  
But false Sons, who designing worse to rend it  
With lewd Lives, and no Fortunes would defend it.   

Dangerfield's Ghost to J—  

REvenge! Revenge! my injured Shade begins  
To haunt thy guilty Soul, and scourge thy sins:  
For since to me thou ow'st the heaviest score,  
Whose Living words tormented thee before,  
When Dead, I'm come to plague thee yet once more.  
Don't start away, nor think thy Brass to hid,  
But see the dismal shape in which I died!  
My Body all deformed with putrid Gore,  
Bleeding my Soul away at every poor;  
pushed faster on by Francis, less unkind;  
My Body swollen, and bloated as thy Mind.  
This dangling Eye-Ball rolls about in vain,  
Never to find its proper seat again,  
The hollow Cell usurped by Blood and Brain:  
The trembling Jury's Verdict ought to be  
murdered at once, by Francis, and by Thee.   

The Groans of Orphans, and the ponderous guilt  
Of all the Blood that thou hast ever spilled;  
Thy Counteys Curse, the Rabbles Spite, and all  
Those Wishes sent thee since thy long-wisht Fall;  
The Nobles just Revenge, so bravely bought,  
For all the Ills thy Insolence has wrought:  
May these and more their utmost force combine,  
join all their Wrongs, and mix their Cries with mine.   

And see, if Terror has not struck thee blind;  
See here a long, a ghastly Train behind!  
Far, far, from utmost WEST they crowd away,  
And wandering over, fright back the sickly Day;  
Had the poor Wretches sinned as much as Thee,  
Thou shouldst not have forgot Humanity:  
Who e'er in Blood can so much pleasure take?  
Tho an ill Judge would a good Hang-man make.  
Each hollows in thy Ears,— Prepare! Prepare  
For what thou must, yet what thou canst not bear!  
Each, at thy Heart a bloody Dagger aims,  
Upward to Gibbets point, downward to enless Flames.    

The Troop at Beaconsfield and their March.  

A Medley of Ruffians, bound up in a Band,  
The shane of their Sex,& the Pest of the Land,  
Like Blood-hounds trained up to the Word of Command.   

II.  
To hunt in a Pack, who single would fly,  
And tho fierce to others, yet supplicant lie  
To be beat by their Keepers, like Dogs, till they cry.   

III.  
Each one in armour, like a Crab in his Case,  
On a Horse that can wisely find for him his Place,  
And place his read Nose to his Leaders broad A— se.   

IV.  
With a Curse at his Mouth, and a Shot in his Gun,  
The one to storm Quarters, the other storm Town,  
And a Sword that 'gainst Poultry has Miracles done.   

V.  
With Tears of the March from Bastard-big-Whore,  
Petitions and Curses from Tapster for Score,  
And honest Men's Wishes to see 'em no more.   

VI.  
The Trumpet their Actions and Order does sound,  
The Corporal aloud must the Meaning expound  
To each Horse how his Rider must keep to his Ground.   

VII.  
The Files being straitn'd; the Ranks being even,  
And all things reduced to Sixes and Sevens,  
The Blundering Lieutenant swears Thanks up to Heaven.   

VIII.  
The Captain then struts on his Barbary-Nag,  
Looks Grim, and the Cornet advances the Flag,  
The Trumpet does sound, and then marches Tag-rag.   

IX.  
The Dogs they do bark, and the Poultry run,  
Their meeting on each hand the Passengers shun,  
And Curses are after them shot from the Town.   

X.  
Where springs a glad Din 'mongst the Girls and the Boys;  
The Females they lift up the Heart and the Voice,  
The Whores to Lament, and the Chast to rejoice.   

XI.  
The country and Towns-men do meet, and condole  
●… or what has been scored, and what has been stolen,  
●… or Damages, Cuts, and for Knocks on the Pole.   

XII.  
●… ut when they examine, and find that the Tub,  
●… ho mightily wronged, yet retaineth some Bub,  
●… hey drink, and shake hands, to each Loss and each Drub.   

XIII.  
●… ood God! when a Prince thou dost give us again,  
●… ch Faith and such Principles in him ordain,  
●… s Friends may live Safely, and he without Pain.   

XIV.  
〈…〉 the Laws of the Land, and Melitia's old Force,  
●… stead of these Legion● of Foot and of Horse,  
●… d Irish Dragoons than Devils far worse.   

XV.  
●… hen France may her Models of Government keep,  
●… r Seamen return, and go plow on the Deep,  
●… d Justice and Trade may revive from their sleep.    

SONG.  
To the Tune of, Gather your Rose-Buds, &c.  

KEep to the Church, while yet you may,  
Now Sects are still a growing,  
●… d Popery that buds to day,  
To Morrow will be blowing.   

II.  
We Dance an endless circled round,  
Like Fairies in Religion,  
While the Italian gets the Ground;  
And calls us senseless Widgeon.   

III.  
The Presbyterian leads the Van,  
And next the Independent,  
The Dapper Quaker then comes in  
But Popery's the end on't.   

IV.  
Then be not Wedded to the New,  
But in the Old way tarry,  
For having once but left the New,  
You may for ever vary.    

A true and full Account of a late Co●…ference between the wonderful Spea●…ing-Head and Father Pulton, as 〈…〉 was related by the Heads own Mou●… to Dr. F— r, 1686.  

I That was once an humble log,  
The pissing Post for every Rogue;  
And did hope for nothing higher,  
Than to grace a christmas Fire,  
From th' Element escaped hard,  
By th' Favour of F— et Shepherd;  
Who, being a Friend to mathematics;  
●… o's for Virtuoso's lay Tricks;  
●… d procure a Man of Art,  
●… hat gave me Voice Articulate,  
●… ought me Tongues the most difficile,  
●… o sing Sawney, Laugh and Whistle.  
●… ollow'd now by Court and City,  
●… confounded with my strange Ditty,  
●… oath the Learned and the Witty:  
●… d make all the Talk at Betty's,  
●… y the help of my Friend P— s.  
●… or you Wits were always good  
●… o the Family of Wood,  
●… d before kept such a put her  
●… with the Groaning Board my Brother,  
●… ome Men think you know our Mother.  
●… d I hope both you and they Sir,  
●… Vill favour me sweet Dr. F— r,  
●… o help me out but with one Jest;  
●… et me alone for all the rest;  
●… or my wondrous Voices sound,  
〈…〉 much admired by the Beau Mond,  
●… Vho to me pay more Devotion  
●… hang to pretty Punches Motion.  
●… any a Lady bright and fine  
●… ays her Cherry Lips to mine,  
●… nd without offence I smack her  
●… ill I rub off all my Lacker;  
●… with that Sex I more prevail  
●… hang any Head that wants a Tail.  
●… he King to Court sent for my Timber  
●… s kind as if I had been a Member,  
●… nd found me an obedient Head  
●… hat did agree to all he said;  
Which being strange, pleased him so much,  
He wished that all the House were such;  
And 'twould much advance his Cause,  
If such Noddles could make Laws.  
This indeed's a mighty Comfort,  
But, alas! I am paid home for't.  
busy Priests with their Disputing,  
Reasoning, Arguing, and Confuting,  
Who with Charms ecclesiastic,  
Can make good catholic of a Stick:  
Do torment and plague me more  
Than without Ears I ever bore;  
May I be a log again,  
To avoid their Noisy Train.  
Pulton t'other Night did come,  
( If I lye, may I be Dumb,  
Or may a Plague I wish my Foes,  
Will R— s blow into my Nose,)  
And brought a Letter signed S. Petre,  
That he'd privately Confer with me.  
I at the Challenge did not flinch,  
But bid him sit down on my Bench;  
And since he had so good a Warrant,  
Blow in my Mouth, and tell his Errand.  
Says he, I Missionary come,  
Ad Partes Infidelium;  
For your Faith cannot be good,  
That springs from Shepherds and hard Wood:  
I to all Blockheads am the Legate,  
And gain some in spite of Clegat.  
They alone our Business must do,  
Who han't a grain of Sense to trust to.   

'tis not my Province to Confute  
Those that think and can Dispute;  
A●… d here we need not such expenses,  
●… ce our Nation suits our Senses.  
●… othing is so apt and fit  
●… r our Doctrine, as your Wit,  
●… d he is most our Enemy  
●… ho is most removed from thee.  
●… h! happy Off-spring of the Maple,  
●… o praise thee enough I am not able.  
●… h! what comfort dost thou show Men  
〈…〉 thy lucky Faces Omen?  
●… imes will come again, I see,  
●… hen England shall adore a three;  
●… hen Oracles old Poets shall utter,  
●… afers bleed, and Flints sweat Butter.  
〈…〉 in Mother Church you stood,  
●… ou'd do Wonders like the Rood;  
〈…〉 her Sacred Bosom fostered,  
●… hat might we hope from such a Costard;  
●… or you might convert the Nation,  
●… nce you speak by Inspiration.  
〈…〉 While he thus foamed with Holy Rage,  
●…— y with pale Visage,  
●… o bring my late Conveyance home,  
●… ame by chance into the Room,  
●… nd looked on him as well as me,  
●… ke Ghost of little Shaftsbury;  
●… he frighted Priest let fall the Matter,  
●… nd headlong down the Stairs did clatter;  
●… or could sustain in any place  
●… he Terror of that hated Face.  
〈…〉 in this Deliverance blessed,  
●… ot in my Chest, and went to rest.    

A new Address to Mr. Bays, on his la●… Conversion to the Church of Rome.  

HAst thou at last that Mother Church too quitte●…  
To which thy Laymans Faith so oft submitte●…  
To gain whose Grace, and keep thyself from wa●…  
Thou didst thy Fathers Principles recant;  
sinned against all the sense thou didst inherit,  
And choked the Motions of thy Grandsire's Spirit  
Has then established Worship lost her Charms?  
And does blind Admirer Bays fly to an Outlaws arm  
She who thy Wit to join with Law still bread,  
And of thy Conscience had the Maidenhead;  
Who nursed with Care thy pliant-passive Nature  
And sanctified thy base-time-serving satire;  
Can she e're lose that true Adorers Heart,  
Whom from Bawd R— s three Shankers could n●… pa●…  
Thou, who thy Neck, thy Ears, thy Soul did ventu●…  
To libel Whiggs, art thou turned a Dissenter?  
Well doth this Change, which thou to curse may liv●…  
Expound thy blustering for Prerogative;  
Some Sense those Rhymes had, which we thought Ra●…  
This is the Key to thy complying Cant;  
Drawing the Curtain from Long-framing Scenes,  
Thou tell'st us( now at last) what [ Loyal] mea●…  
See here, ye Sots who served the same vile Cau●…  
The end of Faith, that hangs on Human Laws!  
Were with more ease did Love from friends●… gro●…  
Than Toryism up to Popery will flow.  
From having sold, with a Poetic Dotage,  
Our ancient Birthrights for a Mess of Pottage;  
From a Defence of Civil Cheat, and Nonsense,  
With a Brass-Forehead, and Case-hard'n'd Conscience,  
Like a Bilow, who durst all Laws defy,  
To like Imposture in a Church thou dost for a safety fly;  
After long Floating to a Faith thou'rt driven,  
Where all thy villainy may be forgiven,  
Nay used, and hallowed, to restore her see,  
Rome has no Hope while Men from Force are free,  
But by such Fortune-Followers, as Thee.  
How did the Whore open her filthy Breast,  
And with spread Arms receive a Rogue professed!  
Methinks already with the Beasts own brand  
marked, in her calendar I see thee stand!  
Hard by the Noble Army of Church-braves,  
Among the goodly Fellowship of Knaves!  
Who, to alloy the Ferment of Divisions,  
Have into Veins Basilic made Incisions,  
And played the Devils Part in apparitions;  
To give fresh Dread to the Pope's slighted Thunders,  
Have at the Altar acted Lying Wonders,  
As Boys do Proverbs, and revived the spell,  
To prove Impossible by Miracle,  
The better with their Bubble to succeed,  
And Faith in Stubborn-Stony-Hearts to bleed,  
Made Pictures bow, and broken Wafers bleed;  
When e're this Bitch, their spiritual Mother, willed,  
Their Countrey's Father have deposed or killed;  
Brought Hecatombs of heretics to the flamme,  
And Worlds laid wast to spread her impious Name.   

This Party mayst thou never disavow,  
Ne're were thy Morals so well-match'd, as now,  
Fact, Scripture, Reason, Common sense defying,  
'tis they alone could equal thee in Lying:  
Since Man in Gods Name cheated, never yet  
Was Church for Saint, or Saint for Church more fit.  
Oh, mayst thou reason for it, as of late  
Thou didst in Prefaces for the Crown and State!  
In spite of a Fr— League, and Jesuit's Wit,  
Such fulsome Fooling might preserve us yet;  
Such Teaguish Arguments, to whipe one's Br—,  
Would turn Men's stomachs, worse than the K— S—.  
Since in low Fawning thou dost so delight,  
Art siding still with Power against Right,  
And, like a Turk, success in Peace, or War,  
To all the Moral virtues dost prefer,  
As the worst Curse we can wish England's Foe,  
mayst thou at last truly a Papist grow;  
So many heaven's wrath confounded thy servile Brain,  
Thou mayst in Earnest all their Trash maintain,  
damned to believe what now thou dost but feign?  
Since on Rome's Truth thou wou'd'st have all rely,  
That be thy Comfort, when thou comest to die;  
When all the Terrors of grim Death attend thee,  
Have not one virtuous Action to befriend thee;  
No, in the Church's Pale think thyself safer,  
And find no God to save thee, but her Wafer;  
For thy past Life full of a just Confusion,  
And given over to a strong Delusion,  
Put thy sole Trust in a Priest's Absolution;  
Let his vain Unction, on thy outward skin,  
Be thought to heal thy ulcerous Soul within;  
Take't for the Balm which Gilead did afford,  
And have no hope of Heaven, but his word.    

A Short litany.  
To the Tune of Cook laurel.  

I.  
FRom an old Inquisition and new Declaration,  
From Freedom of Conscience and Whig-Toleration,  
'Gainst Conscience imposing upon the whole Nation,  
For ever, Good Lord, deliver me!   

II.  
From Knaves would set up a Dispensative Power,  
To pull down the Test, to which we have swore,  
By imposing a greater than any before,  
For ever, &c.   

III.  
From the Courts Triumvirate Counsel in vain,  
The Father Confessor, that Cheater of Men,  
The Hypocrite lob, and the Jesuit Pen,  
For ever, &c.   

IV.  
From losing the Set in a Passion and flamme,  
By taking seven Men up, and hoping the same,  
To recover by playing an After-back-game,  
For ever, &c.   

V.  
●… rom a schismatic State and a catholic Court,  
●… rom picking a Jury in hopes to be for't,  
By Lopping the Bishops the Church to support,  
For ever, &c.   

VI.  
From a Puritans Malice and a Jesuits Spite,  
From showing our Teeth without power to bite,  
Against our own Conscience from doing of Right,  
For ever, &c.   

VII.  
From making a panel the Prelates to blast,  
In hopes with St. Peter their Lordships to cast,  
And finding it all Ignoramus at last,  
For ever, &c.    

The E. of Essex's Ghost, 1687.  

FRom the blessed Regions of Eternal Day,  
Where Heaven-born Souls imbibe th' Immortal Ray;  
Where Liberty and Innocence reside  
Free from the Gripes of Tyranny and Pride;  
Where pious Patriots that have  shed their Blood  
For Sacred Truth, and for the public good,  
Now rest secure from thence,( poor Isle) I come  
To see thy Sorrows and bewail thy Doom;  
Thy sore Oppressions and thy piercing Cry,  
Disturbs our Rest and drowns our Harmony.  
When stiff-neck'd Israel did their God reject,  
And in his stead an Idol-King erect:  
Heav'ns flaming Sword he brandished in his Hand,  
And dreadful Thunder struck their sinful Land;  
Till Penitence atoned his sinful Ire,  
And quenched the Rage of his consuming Fire.  
But this poor Land still feels the dire effect  
Of his just Wrath, who his mildred Reign reject.  
Unhappy Isle, how oft has thou been cursed  
With f— lish? but this of all's the worst.  
The Fire, the Plague, the Sword, are dreadful Fiends;  
This R— l Plague all others far transcends.  
From him the Fountain all our Mischiefs flows,  
From him the Fire, from him the War arose.  
With Rome he Plots Religion to o'rthrow,  
With France Combines, t' enslave the People too.  
No Man must near his Sacred Person come,  
Except he be for Tyranny and Rome.  
With hardened Face h'assaults the frail and fair,  
●… ses his Power the virtuous to ensnare.  
●… with Troops of Viee he conquers Liberty,  
Depresses virtue, enthrones Tyranny,  
●… hreatens the Coward, fawns upon the bold,  
Debauches all with Power or with Gold.   

Lift up thy Head, afflicted Isle, and hear,  
The time of thy Deliverance draws near;  
His full blown Crimes will certainly pull down  
A slow, but sure Destruction of his Crown.  
●… is loathed Acts thy Freedom's Birth shall cause,  
●… ecure Religion, produce wholesome Laws.  
●… o more the Poor the Rich one shall devour,  
●… o more shall Right yield t' Oppressive Power:  
●… o more shall Rapine make the Country groan,  
●… or Civil Wars shall reign within the Town:  
●… he Iron sceptre, and the Tyrant's Hand,  
●… all cease henceforth to bruise thy happy Land.  
●… ome's Hocus Pocus Ministers no more  
●… hall cause Mankind their juggling Priests t' adore:  
●… hy Learned Clergy shall confounded them all,  
●… nd they, like Ely's Sons, unpitied fall.  
Dark Mists of Errors then must fly away,  
And Hells Delusions shrink from the bright Day.  
Truth's sacred Light in full abundance shall  
Upon thy Teachers and thy People fall.  
So when th' Eternal Son was born to die  
For all the World, the lesser Gods did fly;  
His bright appearance struck their Prophets down,  
And Death like silence did their Gods entomb.  
The tuneful Spheres with Hallelujahs rung,  
Heavens mighty Host with Man one Chorus sung:  
Ne're fading Glory unto God above,  
Peace upon Earth, to Men eternal Love.  
Thus the Creation shouted with one Voice,  
Thus Heaven and Earth did at his Birth rejoice:  
And thus shall all repeat this Song again,  
When upon Earth he shall begin to reign.  
But this loud Isle shall be the chosen place,  
Here shall the King of Kings begin his Race:  
Judea was his Cradle, and his Tomb;  
Britain shall be his Throne in time to come.    

Popish politics Unmaskt.  

WAlking( some ten years since) along the Park  
One Summer Eve, before it was quiter dark  
I fancied 'mongst a Grove of Trees I spied  
A Man stand musing by the Water side:  
I wish 'twas but a Fancy, but I doubt  
You'll find it none when you have ●eard it out.  
This Person was a very tall black Man,  
Above the common size almost a Span,  
His Face was wasted in most piteous sort,  
In all things else he was of Royal Port:  
But if grim-looks alone majestic be,  
Commend me to that Face for Majesty,  
For such it had enough for two or three.  
To this Tall Man joined instantly another  
Of near his Stature, whom he called Brother,  
Richly encircled with a numerous Ring,  
Which shew'd he wanted nought but Name of King;  
Some time they silent were, till all were gon;  
Then did the Taller say, Brother go on,   

Which thus he did—  
I shall, Great Sir, my last Discourse retrieve,  
I pray you Good Attention to it give;  
Your Case peculiar is, peculiar too  
Must be your Care, or you yourself undo;  
For Stations high, with Industry and Wit,  
A second way may find, if first don't hit:  
But Princes mounted on a Sovereign Throne,  
Nor have, nor can have other way but one,  
To kerb the saucy Vulgar, and pull down  
Their Cobweb Rights that circumscribe the Crown.  
Tear off your Shackles, make the Bumpkins know  
There's none but you Almighty here below.  
You spoil your Game, Sir, while you do thus dally;  
Who follows him that standeth, shall I, shall I?  
You Cow the Bold, and Keen the Cowards Heart,  
Whilst you, divided, act the doubtful part.  
Had you, when London was in Flames, but run  
And cut the Cits damned Throats, your work you'd done,  
You should have made their Blood the Fire to meet,  
With Bodies fed the Flames in every Street.  
To do and undo, suits well with sorry things,  
But' is beneath the Majesty of Kings:  
Caesar, or Nothing's writ on all they do;  
For Monarchs know no Medium 'twixt these two.  
What is't you stick at, Sir? would you retreat?  
Y'are now so far engaged you must beat,  
Or beaten be, ride or be ridden now;  
He never back must look that holds the Plow.  
It may be you not Promise break, nor Oath;  
Pish! All the World well know you can do both.  
With great Advice the other day you said,  
By Parliaments and Counsels you'd be swayed:  
To day you think it good to let them know  
What e're you said, you ne're intended so:  
Fools to their Word, but Princes great, like you,  
To nought but their Intentions must be true.  
What! Is't the Laws you tender are to break?  
It's well known that's a Scruple but too weak;  
For Laws are nothing else but Ties and Bands,  
On purpose made to shackle Subjects Hands.  
Or, of fit Tool, is't you so doubtful are?  
If that be it, I'll ease you of your Care;  
I Villains of intrinsic value have,  
And more obedient than a Turkish Slave:  
If you but bid them thrust their bloody Knives  
Into their Fathers Throats, their Childrens, Wives,  
Or any but their own, they'l freely do't,  
And lay them sprawling at your Sacred Foot.  
I have my Teagues and Tories at my beck  
Will wring their Heads off like a Chickens Neck;  
tried Rogues, that never will so much as start  
To tear from Mothers Belly Infants Heart;  
First Rape, then ripp them up, in one half hour  
Two Lusts they'l satiate, do but give them power  
Faint Rogues will melt, and have their qualms of fear  
At Fathers Groans, or at a Mothers Tear;  
But mine are Monsters, fit for any Prince,  
Not plagued with Conscience, nor yet plagued with Sense.  
The Flames of Hell, Horror, eternal Pains,  
The clergies Cheats to propagate their Gains;  
They ridicule and scorn to lend their Ear;  
Let Knaves for Profit preach, and Fools go hear  
The Tales of future Bliss, not worth a Rush.  
With them one bide in Hand's worth two i' th' Bush.  
Others won't serve you but on constant Pay,  
My Hounds will hunt, and live upon their Prey:  
A Virgins Haunch, or well-bak'd Ladies Breast  
To them is better than a venison Feast:  
Babes Petticoats, cut large with Arms and legs,  
They far prefer before Pettitoes of Pigs:  
Poor Span-long Infants, that like Carps, well stewed  
In their own Blood, their Irish Chaps have chewed;  
And Fathers cawls have Candles made, to light  
Those black inhuman Banquets of the Night.  
What e're you'd have, what e're your wishes crave,  
Nod, and 'tis done by my obedient Slaves.  
They know no Scruple, no Command dispute,  
But do't as readily as Turkish Mute.  
You see, Sir, where you are, your Royal Date  
Grows out, if you don't soon support your Fate.  
To shak off Parliaments will be too great,  
●… nd put you in too violent a Sweat;  
To baffle therefore, but not cast them off,  
To hold them still, but hold them still in Scoff,  
Must be your work; for we are weakened so,  
That we must drive the Nail that now will go:  
And that too we must do with gentle hand,  
That tho' they sit, they may not understand.  
When January comes, could and ill way  
Will call it Love to put them off till May;  
In May some odd Intelligence comes newly  
Won't suffer you to hold them until July;  
And July so with heat and sickness vexed,  
Pity Prorogues them to November next.  
And time is ill spent, if before that day  
We be not able to throw Mask away.  
This far exceeds Dissolving in my Mind,  
And gives to our Design a better Blind;  
For if two Parliaments you slight, I doubt  
The Rogues will then begin to scent us out;  
For( watchful, with Erected Ears) the Herd  
Stand listening now concerned, and much afeared;  
A Covey, half o'erspread, half scaped the Net,  
Are always harder than at first to set:  
So People slipped out of the Noose or Train,  
Are much the harder to be catched again.  
With Prorogations therefore short and soft  
They must be treated; these repeated oft  
Will chafe them so, that either mad with rage,  
They'll bring their old Rebellion on the Stage,  
Or sullen sit, and leer on what we do,  
( The far more dangerous humour of the two)  
Their dogged Nature now its Venom vents  
In choosing damned and plaguy Parliaments:  
Poor Fools, their Rage does quiter out-run their Wit,  
Yet you must never suffer them to sit,  
But mock the Choice, and mock the Session too.  
Another way, Sir, we our work will do;  
One Plot is better than ten Parliaments,  
Those give you Taxes, these shall give you Rents;  
A Thousand of the Richest we will scrue  
Into a Plot they ne'er heard of, nor knew.  
If Rents 3000 l. a Day, won't do,  
I'll three times three, by this Plot help you to.  
This, Sir's, your business, and look to your Stuff,  
Is all your care, for we have Rogues enough;  
Do you but Judges get, I'll Juries find;  
Witnesses too, according to our mind,  
Such Spruce Rogues, ah! 'twould do you good to hear  
How daring bold, and bravely they will Swear;  
They're not like Bedlow, Dugdale, oats, and such,  
Consider first, for fear to speak too much,  
Nor let their Conscience maim their Evidence,  
Through tender fear of hurtipg Innocence:  
Nor do I care for a fanatic Noose,  
All are fanatics that have ought to lose.  
Judge, Witnesses, and Jury, I'll make sure,  
The Devil's in't if all ben't then secure.  
Yet if this fails, don't you discouraged be,  
To form new Plots, leave to my Priests and me;  
Like Pins one Plot another shall drive out,  
Till we have brought our only Plot about.  
Our first work is to save our Friends, that done,  
Like shirts t'our backs, we'll have more Plots than one,  
As fast as this fails, t'other we will start,  
Till Plot, like Pox has seized on every part.  
They fain would foil our Plots, and fill your Ears  
With Regicide intents to raise your fears,  
This fruitless Gun, that Dagger stabs your Belly,  
When you know all, better than they can tell ye.  
Go on, Sir, never fear the heedless Herd,  
They have no Courage but when you're afeared:  
On me lay all the faults of Town and Age,  
I'll safely screen you from the Peoples Rage;  
For when ill Accidents our Plots do spoil  
Me they'l call Rogue, but you most sacred style:  
For Loyalty awes them in every thing,  
Tho' you destroy them, yet, God save the King.  
Tho' you them stab and I but hold the Knife,  
Yet still they'l wish your Majesty long life.  
Thus, great Sir, you're the greatest Prince alive;  
If Plots according to our projects thrive;  
And thrive they shall, if you'l but do your part,  
And from proposed methods never start:  
For Plots like Clock-work are; one Pin pulled out  
Doth all its Order, and its Beauty rout,  
Steady your hand, keep Parliaments at Bay,  
Nor off, nor on, nor quibbling, nor at Play,  
Clip every Tongue you find does hang too long,  
( 'tis taking wind makes every thing scent strong.)  
Thus if you do, ill fortune I'll defy,  
All other things pray leave to Fate and I:  
And now adieu, I'll dive beneath the show,  
And act my Popish Will by Art below.   

He being gone, in steps a certain Lord,  
Who had of all was said heard every Word,  
Great Sir( said he) who can tell what to say?  
If you by Popish Councils mean to sway,  
cursed be those Councils! and the Men that do  
persuade you to our ruin, and yours too.  
A Thousand Names, Ten Thousand let your Brother  
In's next Book writ, if he dare writ another:  
Ten Gentrys Names for one that he hath got,  
Nay let him name us all in the next Plot.  
All but the Papists Sir,— all but a few  
Of Rome's sworn Vassals and her Clergy Crew.  
bait but this sort, and then take you the Pole,  
You'll hardly get another English Soul.  
as soon as will then let your Brother draw  
high Huffs, yet he shall never England awe,  
On our side stand the People, and the Law:  
For don't mistake, Sir, 'tis by Law alone:  
Your Right's derived to our English Throne,  
Set that aside, and make the Law a shame,  
No sovereign you, nor I a Subject am;  
For that same Law that gives you Dignity,  
Gives me my Life, Fortune and Liberty:  
Pardon, if with less reverence this is said,  
Than doth become a Member to its Head;  
For it sound Doctrine is, tho' Cully Brother  
And Popishs Wits would fain find out another.  
Within the circled of the Law, great Sir,  
I stand, and out of it I'll never stir:  
If to be King you be content, I will  
Pay all Allegiance and Obedience still;  
The Peoples Rights, and all our English Laws  
Do make the strongest side the Subjects Cause.  
Nor can your keeping us from Parliaments  
E're further or advantage your Intents,  
Far greater are the Choosers than the Choice,  
England's Free-holders have a mighty voice;  
These we'l unite, these we'l associate,  
And if we can't defend our Lives and Fate  
We'l fairly fall, and Freemen to our Graves,  
We'l rather choose to go, than to be Slaves.  
Our ancestors shan't Curse us in their Tomb,  
Nor shall our Children in their Mothers Womb  
They left us Free, and we ours Free will leave.  
Or Death, our Hopes and Us shall both deceive.  
Thus said— with angry looks He went his way  
No answer from his greatness could I pray;  
Then I trudged too; for vain it was to stay.    

On Easter-day 87. this was found fixed on the King's chapel Door.  
WHen God Almighty had his Palace framed,  
That Glorious shining Place he Heaven named;  
And when the first Rebellious Angels fell,  
He doomed them to a certain place, called Hell.  
Here's Heaven and Hell confirmed ●y Sacred Story,  
But yet I never could red of Purgatory,  
That cleansing place which of late years is found,  
For sinning Souls to Flux in till they're sound:  
The Priest formed that for the good Roman Race,  
Our Maker never thought of such a place.  
Oh Rome! wee'l own thee for a learned wise Nation,  
To add a place wanting in Gods Creation.   

Upon K. J. Pistolling a Mastiff Dog at Banbury, in his last Progress.  

THE Poets tell us idle Tales to please us,  
Of mighty Perseus, Hercules, and Theseus;  
And several other gallant Heroes too,  
Who every one their several Monsters slay.  
The Minotaur did Theseus bravely slaughter,  
And then as bravely Sw— d the Kings own Daughter.  
Nemean Lion bold Hercules did choke,  
And of his Skin made him a lasting Cloak.  
The far-fam'd Perseus killed a mighty Whale,  
And all t' enjoy Andromeda's brown Tail.  
Historians all the great St. George admire,  
For murdering horrid Dragon that spit Fire.  
But what concerns us yet far more to tell,  
One of these Heroes slay the Dog of Hell;  
renowned Attempts( you'll all confess) if true,  
But our great J— s did more than this, ( Morbleau:)  
He who before, t' immortalize his Name,  
Lost dreaded England all her Naval famed;  
He who return'd from belgic Lions Roar,  
When Sandwich sunk in sight of Southwold Shore;  
He who two Summers but of late sat down  
With all his Forces before Hounslow Town,  
And nothing else but bare dishonour won;  
He, when he saw his Loving Friend assailed  
By furious Mastiff Cur, Ear-snip'd, bob-tail'd,  
Eyes darting Fire, and with his Boo-woo's fierce,  
Ready to seize the Lord Lieutenants Horse:  
'tis true, quoth he, to show that wondrous Might,  
Which I have long concealed from human sight:  
With furious Tone pursuing then his Speech,  
fanatic Dog, forbear my Royal Breech,  
( He cried) For know thou art but bluntly pointed,  
Tho sharp thy Fangs, to touch the Lords Anointed.  
To which the Dog, who never Scripture red,  
And scorned to call an Earthly Monarch Dread.  
I am no Dog( quoth he) to fawn and flatter,  
But I address according to my Nature:  
However know I am a Dog of Sense,  
That's more than may be said of many a Prince.  
With this the mighty J— a Pistol drew,  
discharged, and shot the Mastiff thro' and thro:  
Some say that, Vulcan-like, he riv'd his Brain,  
No matter which, the Dog received his Bane,  
By Royal Hand for saucy Language slain,  
And both got Honour, Dog and Sovereign;  
The Sov'reign had the Honour Dog to kill;  
The Mastiff, that a Prince his Gore did spill.  
Now then, come down from Heaven( ye Cur) come down,  
Thou whom the sweltry Summers so renown;  
Resign that Place of thine more justly due  
To this same Dog, whom God's Vice-gerent slay:  
Surely a Dog so dignified in Story,  
Is th' only Dog worth Constellations Glory.   

And you, who in your Signs St. George advance,  
Trampling o'er Dragon's Jaws pierced thro' with Lance,  
Alter your painting, and set up in place,  
The bravest Hero of the Scotish Race,  
Discharging Thunder from his gaudy Saddle,  
And Mastiff prostrate in a goary Puddle:  
So shall you Truth advance o'er Fabulous toys,  
And Dog and Monarch both Immortalize.    

To the Observator.  
HAst thou no Friend so kind, to let thee know  
( But thou( lost Wretch) hast neither Friend nor Foe)  
That thy insipid Libel's naufeous grown,  
No Man will red, or any Party own:  
despised by all, who have the least pretence  
To Wit, to Business, Learning, or good Sense;  
That every little Fool does thee deride,  
And even the Clergy have forsook their Guide.  
Canst thou no new, no fresh Diversion bring,  
But ever fiddle on the self-same string?  
A solemn Blockhead, or brisk old Buffoon,  
After the Rates of Influence from the Moon.  
Tho Mischief dwells in thy felonious Will,  
The power is wanting, and thou'rt harmless still:  
Thou art an impotent, well-wishing Slave,  
But Nature made the Fool outweigh the Knave.  
Thou shift'st thy Sails, and changest every side,  
Art ever labouring to save thy Tide.  
In vain thy dullness throws thee still behind,  
While nimbler Knaves laugh, and thy Prizes find:  
contemned by all, of all Recourse bereft,  
Thou leav'st old Friends, and by the new are left.  
But since 'twere vain th' abandoned to advice,  
And bid a positive old Fool be wise:  
Were I to answer the Fop Observator,  
I'd wipe— with his Works, piss on their Author.   

Old Gammer Cook.  

AS Mother Cook went t'other day  
To do, the dead of Nature,  
What lay in the way, instead of Hay,  
But reverend Observator?   

She took it up, and red a Scrap:  
Alas!( quoth she) 'tis pity  
That knock should ever have a wipe  
With Pamphlateer so witty!   

O ingrateful world! must this learned Sire  
Be daubed, to save our Fingers,  
The bawling, Ballad-making-Squire,  
That makes such work for Singers?   

Was Towzer and Fidlerio too,  
Whip-Cat, and Antipendium,  
inferior clergies Guide, I trow,  
That strikes Dissenting Men dumb?   

He whips Whig-Conventicle Doggs,  
●nd scissors old Fox's Martyrs,  
H●w ●hips the Sister-Saints, and flogs  
esig ●sanna's bounce Daughters.   

Thus far she trumpeted his Praise,  
And( squitter squatter) guilt his Bays.    

The Drinking Song.  

GIve us music with Wine,  
And we'll never repined  
At prosperous Knaves, but defy 'em;  
Those politic Sots  
Are still weaving of Plots,  
So sine, that at last they fall by' em.   

We Laugh and we Drink,  
And on business ne'er think,  
Our Voices and Hautboys still sounding;  
While we dance, play, and sing,  
We've the world in a string,  
And our pleasure is ever abounding.   

Your sober dull Knave,  
For Wise is but Grave,  
'tis Craft, and not Wisdom, employs him:  
We nothing Design  
But good music and Wine,  
And blessed is he that enjoys them.    

A Dialogue between Father Petre and the Devil.  F. P. 
OH, are you come? 'tis more than time;  
Your Tardiness is no small Crime;  
All our Designs are at a stand,  
They've got again the upper hand;  
Yet like true jesuit, I have wrought  
My Charge up to the Point I sought,  
Both Sense and Reason quiter or'ethrown,  
For those we deal with must have none.  D. 
Is this a Conquest to relate,  
Worthy a Jesuitic Pate?  
I have more Trouble with you had,  
Than all the Orders I have made:  
Beside, I joined in the Design  
One, whose fell Malice equals mine;  
One so ambitiously inclined,  
Of such an uncontrolled Mind,  
That, let the gulf be ne're so deep,  
Or Pyramids prodigious steep;  
If in th' extremes thou canst disclose  
Any that does her Will oppose;  
( Tho' on just Grounds) they meet their Fate  
In violent— unbounded Hate.  F. P. 
I did not call you to discourse,  
We must do something now by Force:  
Our whole Society is shamed,  
And we in our first Founder damned.  
Did I, tho' to my Souls Perdition,  
Add things more black than my Commission,  
Gaining Belief among the Great,  
Who forced upon themselves the Cheat?  
While the good Man I kept at th'Oar,  
No galley Slave e're laboured more;  
Nor durst I let him pause upon't,  
Lest, if he thought he should recant;  
With puzzling Notions still possessed him,  
At once tormented and caress't him;  
hoodwinked the Pilot that should steer us,  
With our infallible chimaeras.  D. 
Boast not as if you'd Conquest won,  
You've started much, and nothing done;  
Your Order, whatsoe'er they came,  
Have set whole Kingdoms in a flamme:  
Nor Hell, nor Rome, can give you thanks  
For acting thus a mad Man's Pranks.  
Did I not always to you preach,  
The English would you over-reach?  
They'l be convinced e're they believe,  
Not pin their Faith upon your Sleeve;  
Your public chapels have o'rthrown us,  
Our very Profelytes disown us;  
And face about to th'other Side,  
Exclaiming 'gainst the Roman Pride.  F. P. 

What, do you now complain of me,  
For over-acting villainy?  
I still consulted you in all,  
Did daily for your Conduct call:  
And tho', 'tis true, I named the Saints,  
Yet 'twas to you I made my Plaints.  
I own, about the French we failed,  
But in the Irish we prevailed:  
Propose once more, and I'l obey't,  
It shall be done if you but say't:  
You know, in such a holy Juggle,  
My feared Conscience ne'er did boggle:  
We must not flag, or sit down here,  
That would declare Remorse or Fear,  
Which Jesuits do more decline,  
Than e're the Rechabites did Wine.  
But I have something to impart,  
Which does oppress my tender Heart,  
And made me now invoke you hither,  
Tho' 'gainst your Principles, to gather  
The truth of some important Queres  
Most needful in this dubious Series.   

First, if it in you power does lie,  
Tell me what Death I'm doomed to die:  
I dare not hope 't must be in Bed,  
That suits not with the Life I lead:  
But if I must be hanged and quartered,  
Let me be canonised and martyred,  
With holy Harcourt, and his Fellows,  
Like them be Sainted at the Gallows.   

The next thing I desire to learn,  
( If you the Secret can discern,  
Of Truth does in your Bosom lie,  
Which were indeed a Mystery.)  
Let me in private understand,  
Both when, and where, the Dutch will Land.  
And last, I do this Favour crave,  
Since I have ever been your Slave;  
Unfold the mystic Book of Fate,  
And red me England's future State,  
Who next shall to the Throne succeed,  
The English or Italian Breed.   

The Devil answering, laughed outright:  
would I these Secrets bring to light,  
I should not half that Harvest gain,  
For which I've taken all this Pain:  
Nor would I, if I could, reveal  
That which my Interest bids conceal.  
Yet I will answer thee in part,  
Since I've an Interest in thine Heart;  
The first, peculiar is to thee,  
For which thou needest not trouble me,  
'tis what thyself did long foresee.  
Nor is it reason to believe  
Thou shou'd'st the Mobile deceive:  
But whether Martyr, or a traitor,  
Thy Ballad will be Truth's Relator,  
The other two will be made plain,  
When Belgic Lions across the Mane.   

This said, the Devil left the Father,  
The Meaning of his Words to gather,  
And vanished from him down the Stairs,  
While he proceeded in his prayers.    

The Metamorphosis.  

HAd the late famed Lord Rochester survived,  
We'd been informed who all our Plots contrived;  
Authors and Actors we had long since seen,  
In sharpest Satyrs they'd recorded been,  
Tho' Captain, Doctor, Lord, Duke, K— g, or Queen:  
His bold and daring Muse had soared on high,  
And brought down true Intelligence from the Sky.  
He oft the Court has of its Vices  told,  
While Priests pretend they dare not be so bold;  
Tho' they're heaven's Messengers, it's Livery wear  
Receive it's bounteous Salary, yet they dare,  
Neglect their Duty, or for Gain or Fear:  
Connive at what's directly opposite,  
And, e're they'l give Offence, each turn a Proselyte:  
Witness the dismal Change that now is come,  
Long since expected by the Church of Rome.  
The Calves of Dan and Bethel bleat aloud,  
And Jeroboam worships in the Crowd;  
Our Upstart Statesmen turn with every Wind,  
That blows from Rome, to Sense and Truth are blind.  
But yet, tho' ten of our twelve Tribes should fall,  
And worship Dagon, Ashtaroth, and Baal;  
A Remnant will remain, who firm will stand,  
To God, Religion, and their Native Land;  
Who will not bow themselves to th' Romish Yoke,  
Tho' they share Sydney's or brave Russel's Stroke  
Nor can this Egypt's Darkness long remain,  
A Star of Jesse will shine out again;  
Scotch vermin, Irish Frogs, French Locusts; All  
That swarm both at Saint James's and Whitehall;  
Tho' now advanced to all Trust, all Command,  
All Offices enjoy by Sea and Land,  
Shall, when this Sun doth set, no more appear  
Within the Confines of our Hemisphere.  
A Princely Branch remains will on us smile,  
And spread its goodly Boughs quiter o'er the Isle;  
Confirm our staggering Hopes, remove our Fears,  
And turn to Balm of Gilead all our Tears;  
The Church and State shall nourish as before,  
Just Judges to the needful Bench restore;  
And thoroughly purge the judgement-seat from those  
Who make the Laws themselves the Laws Oppose.  
For such there are, and in the highest Place,  
Who their Profession do so much disgrace;  
That many fear their Grievance to unfold,  
Where Law and Conscience both are bought and sold.  
Our Pulpits too shall be adorned with those  
Who turn not with each Blast of Wind that blows;  
Who dare preach Truth, and dare that Truth maintain,  
Not moved by threatenings, Frowns, favour, or Gain;  
That dare declaim against the Sins o'th Nation,  
While others of that Tribe embrace the Fashion.  
Nor thenceforth shall those Black Coat-Vipers come,  
Who here are daily disembogu'd from Rome;  
Where Sins of all Kinds, and of all Degrees,  
( The Church Revenues, and the Office Fees  
Being discharged) Religiously are done,  
Tho' 't be to murder Father, Brother, Son;  
Ravish a Sister, with a Daughter do  
What Nature has a just Abhorrence to;  
For which, if Purgatory or Hell you shun,  
Fee the Priests largely, and your Work is done;  
They're Delegates to him that keeps the Keys,  
And can't admit one Soul without the Fees;  
For he, as God, in Heaven and Earth has power  
To Crown and to Uncrown in the same Hour;  
Unmake and Make, Create and Uncreate,  
To Torments after Death can give a Date;  
From him proceeds inevitable Fate.  
These Imps do now in Crowds each other follow,  
And hope e're long Churches and Bells to hallow;  
To teach you how to worship to the East,  
Prescribe us Fasts, while they themselves do Feast;  
Whole Loads of relics they have got together,  
Ay, and Saint Peter's Shadow's gliding hither;  
In th'Abbey shortly will be kept a Fair,  
Where you may buy such consecrated Ware,  
As England has not seen this hundred Year.  
For 'tis not France, nor Italy, nor Spain,  
That can the thousandth Part of Saints contain;  
For Saints, by Canonizing, do become,  
By an infallible Deception made at Rome,  
Not only Omnipresent, but beside,  
One into twenty thousand they divide:  
The like with other relics they can do,  
Joseph's old Coat, the Virgin Mary's show;  
Saint Peter's Sword, that cut off Malchus Ear;  
The Hoofs o'th' silly Ass which Christ did bear;  
The Right Eye of John Baptist, and the Apostle  
St. Thomas's Shoulder Blade-Bone, with the Gristle;  
The Virgin Mary's Milk, sold by the Quart;  
Nay, th' Blood and Water, which from Jesu's Heart  
Was by a soldier let out with a Spear,  
By Miracle kept 'bove sixteen hundred year:  
Besides all this, more Nails to show there be,  
That fixed our Saviour Christ unto the three;  
Than twenty Smiths in a whole Day can make;  
Yet all these for the same the Church does take.   

Bless me, thought I, good Heaven! What does this mean?  
Such Trumpery by me shall ne'er be seen;  
No, nor the Monsters, that were named before,  
Altho' a Trumpet stood before the Door,  
And, after dismal Sound on Ludgate-Hill,  
Where Porcupine of you did cast his Quill;  
Where Crocodile, Rhinoceros, and Baboon,  
With other Prodigies are daily shown;  
Invite me in, I would not stir I swear,  
To see those more Prodigious— there.    

Caesar's Ghost.  

' TWas still low Ebb of Night, when not a Star  
Was twinkling in the muffled Hemispere;  
But all around in horrid Darkness mourned,  
As if old Chaos were again return'd;  
When not one Gleam of the eternal Light  
Shot thro' the solid Darkness of the Night;  
In dismal Silence Nature seemed to sleep,  
And all the Winds were butted in the Deep;  
No whispering Zephyrus aloft did blow,  
Nor warring Boughs were murmuring below;  
No falling Waters dashed, no Rivers purl'd;  
But all conspired to hush the drowsy World.   

When on my Couch in thoughtless Slumbers wrapped  
I lay reposed;— My very Soul too slept  
In peaceful dullness, silent and serene,  
Till 'twas debauched and wakened into Dream.   

Methought I saw a dark and dismal Vault,  
Whose Horror cannot be conceived by Thought,  
And seemed by some Infernal magic wrought:  
So vast, and so perplexing intricate,  
As if the dreadful Court of Death and Fate;  
And yet of Kings the great Repositer,  
And only Royal Dust lies mouldering here.   

Amongst these Monuments of Sacred famed,  
Great Caesar stood; Caesar, whose deathless Name,  
When Shrines decay, triumphant shall remain,  
While Sense, good Nature, Wit, and Love shall reign.   

While I with aweful Fear and Trembling paid  
Humble Oblations to the mighty Dead,  
Methought the sweeting Marble did unclose,  
And from Death's Mansion the dead Monarch rose;  
His Eyes o'er all scattered a sullen Light,  
Such as divides the breaking Day from Night;  
By whose faint Rays the Object I discerned  
All pale— with ghastly Majesty adorned.  
His stiffen'd loins a purple Mantle bore,  
His Brows a Wreath of withered laurels wore,  
Such as had flourished there in Life before.   

Now forth he stalks, silent as Shadows glide,  
Or Clouds that skim the Air while they divide,  
As quick as thought the faithless Town he passed,  
And towards the Camp of wondrous famed does hast,  
While Midnight Fogs surround his aweful Head,  
And down his Locks their baneful poison  shed;  
The wandring airy Demons at the View,  
And all the Ignis Fatuus's withdrew;  
Hecate let fall, her charm-preparing Weeds,  
wondering what unknown power Earth's Surface treads,  
Which more than that which she invokes, she dreads.  
She flies all frighted with erected Hair,  
And scarce her Broomstaff bears her thro' the Air;  
From his dread Presence every Evil ran,  
Except that more exalted Evil, Man:  
Not the first Race of less corrupted Fiends,  
Till taught by Man, knew half their new-coin'd Sins.   

Thrice with majestic place he walks the round  
Surveying the Pavilions utmost bound,  
And useless Grandeur every where he found.  
Philippi, nor the famed Pharsalian Field,  
Did not more Signs of Glorious Action yield;  
But this was all for show not Terror made,  
'twas Hounslow Farce, a Siege in Masquerade.   

More near he views it yet, and found within,  
All the Degrees of Luxury and Sin;  
Alsatia's Sink into this Common-Shore,  
Did all its vile and nasty nuisance pour;  
Fat Sharpers, Broken Cuckolds, Gamesters, Cheats,  
What Newgate disembogues find here Retreats;  
The Groom and Footman from their Livery stripped,  
With Scarf, Gay Feather, and Command equipped.  
Promotion gives to Sauciness Pretence,  
And greatness is mistook for Insolence;  
And to evince their Valour every Hour  
Bamboo the Slaves that bow beneath their power;  
Yet to the country Ladies these appear  
So Novel, witty, beau, en Cavalier,  
That scarce a tender Heart is left behind,  
Pray God a Maidenhead you chance to find!   

The Phantom to that Quarter first resorts,  
Where the Illustrious Generals keep their Courts.   

I.  
Great F— the Foremost of the Crew,  
Whose Uncle Tureign well could fight we know.  
He who so often does repeat the Jest  
How he subdued the Monarch of the West,  
( Or would have done had he not been undressed.)  
This rough stern Hero of the British War  
To Neighbouring Tents is always born in Chair,  
For fear of Incommodement from the Air.   

II.  
It wonders what did C— ll recommend,  
Who never did to Deeds of Arms pretend:  
Love, all his Active Youth, his business was,  
Love that best suits his handsome Shape and Face.  
But Armies are like Verse, whose doggerel Lines  
Are here for Sense, and there for jingling rhymes.  
( Here where Bellona lays her armor by,  
And learns to be more charming Company,  
Where the ill-mannered God has nought to do:)  
Some few for fighting are, but most for show;  
Where rich embroidered Cloaks a la campaign  
So often shine, unless it chance to rain.  
Then Lord, how the Sir M. will fret and fling!  
Undone, 'tis spoiled, e're shown before the King;  
In perfumed Beds adorned they're basking laid,  
As fine as young Brides, on Persian Carpets tread,  
That o'er the spacious Floor in wanton Pride are spread,  
Like Feasting Gods luxurious, and, they say,  
As arrant Fornicators too as they.  
None come amiss when Lust their Fancies led,  
Alcmena, nor the sweet-fac'd ganymede;  
And, like those Gods, they all are given to Love,  
But none we hear e're thundered but old Jove.   

III.  
Here one the Hero acts in Lovit's Arms,  
And calls his Passion out in warlike Terms,  
Tells of soft Sieges, Batteries and Alarms;  
How the Artillery of her Eyes did wound,  
And how at the first Onset he gave ground:  
He who ne're yet did to a Conqueror bow,  
Yet kisses and adores his Fetters now;  
While all the Batteeies ever he essayed,  
Have been against some Female Fortless Maid;  
But Love-it, who has less of Love than Pride,  
Being with guilt Coach and Country-house supplied,  
Makes that atone for all Defects beside.   

IV.  
There lay a Youth of all his Wits bereft,  
Who this Campaign was by his Mistress left;  
A nauseous Strumpet, insolent and loud,  
False and destructive, basely born and proud.  
Oh bubbl'd Fool, thou that hadst seen the Fate  
Of Cully-B — shes quietly spent Estate:  
Collier undone, and forty Rake-hells more  
For an old common o're-grown flabby Whore,  
Whose Bastard Son may vie with thee for Age,  
A Trader twenty years upon the Stage:  
What from th' expensive Folly couldst thou see,  
But shameful ruin, laught-at Infamy?  
Thy Eyes, I know, were opened long before,  
But still the Jilt betrayed thee to the Whore;  
debased thy Noble Spirits to ●●r Rule,  
And turned thy once fair famed to Ridicule,  
debauched thy Sense with Conversation base,  
Whores, Eating Pimps, Players, a numerous Race,  
While thou the treating Cully art despised,  
And cuckolded by the Slaves thou Gormandiz'd.  
Return, thou Prodigal, from Husks and Swine,  
The ruin of the first, was cause of thine:  
They say thou'rt brave, give us this Proof of it,  
And we'll believe thou canst be braver yet:  
Thou'st yet a Nobler Race of Life to run,  
Leave Herwood to her now to be undone:  
But her kind Keeper gone, his flamme will fade;  
Love cools when 'tis an Obligation made.   

V.  
Here an old battered Tangieren he beholded,  
More mawl'd by Love than e're he was in Field;  
Yet wondrous Amorous still, and wondrous gay,  
Old January dizen'd up in May;  
His Zeals as Trophies of his Victory Graces, Col. Sachvil.  
But all adorned with many Looking-glasses, Col. Sachvil.  
In which he practices Bon Mein and Faces; Col. Sachvil.  
How well to manage Ogling, and what Air  
He should maintain, when cock, when frisk his Hair;  
What Affectation best would Youth express,  
And least the ruins of his Age confess;  
Half-choak'd with monstrous Crevat-string, Disputes  
What Colour best to his complexion suits;  
And all in Middle Gallery to poor,  
And claim which is his Joy, some low-priz'd Whore;  
Vain self-admiring Fop, tho every day  
Thou dost thy antiquated Form survey!  
But to be well deceived, cease playing the Ass  
Six hours each Morn●●● before a Looking-glass,  
And trust the wiser Valet with thy Dress;  
For whilst thou dost not that aged Face behold,  
Thy Dress may flatter thee, thou art not old.  
6. Chett, that Scundrel, he whom Nature made  
An arrant Fool, although a Rogue by Trade,  
Which he industriously improved so well,  
He does in nicest villainy excel,  
And from the Trumpet raised the Colonel;  
Yet lives a double Scandal in his Race,  
His Morals are as odious as his Face:  
Tho Knave and Coward in his Front be writ,  
He has one virtue recommends him yet;  
A Passive Valour that can kicking bear,  
A Caution that secured him in his Fear  
Behind the Canon in the Western War.  
And farther to this Honour has Pretence,  
Can cheat his Men with matchless Impudence:  
But that's the general Cry, While no bold Tongue  
Is found to tell Augustus of their wrong.   

VII.  
7. Next a Grabesious Allonier, who sat  
Like Bacchus on his Tun in drunken state,  
With all his mellow Gang encompassed round,  
In high Debauch of Wine and Bawdry drowned.   

VIII.  
8. That Monster G— dy of prodigious size,  
A Body fitted to his beastly 'vice;  
A Face to all more formidable far  
Than Gorgon's Head, or to that Coward war;  
In youth mean Cheats and Rooking was his Trade,  
Now( starving) got Command— for Drink— not Bread.   

IX.  
9. V— our new Troy's Hector, and it's hope,  
preferred from Tail of Coach to Head of Troop;  
'twas no true Valour got him first a Name,  
But some Welsh Fury did his Blood inflame,  
And sure he never fought when he was tane.  
No Brutal Coward Tyrant Algerien  
E're healed Slaves so ill as his have been;  
As if to him Authority were new,  
It is but damn the Rascal, and a Blow.  
For they so oft false Musters we observe,  
Rather than follow him the Rogues will starve;  
And would, if e're indeed there came a War  
Be justly shot like wry-neck'd Chevalier,  
By some of his own Soldiers in the rear.  
But V— n's not alone, more of his stamp,  
That better merit Tyburn, rule the Camp.   

X.  
10. Among this Crew M— ll that Fornicator,  
encamped with Grandam Doxy and her Daughter;  
The good old Soul he loves because she's handy,  
Can joque and smoke, and hold him tack with Brandy;  
Full threescore years in wise Experience bread,  
preferred from drawing Ale to M— ll's Bed;  
She's old enough to witch, and by her Art  
Has struck some crooked Pin quiter through his Heart  
Or has some damned Infirmity, unseen,  
That makes him dote on such a rivell'd Queen.   

XI.  
Among this Drunken Club was Beau Sir Tom,  
dubbed for his Brother's Merits, not his own;  
From drudging City Prig advanced to be  
Right Worshipful, in Place of High Degree,  
But knew not how to manage Quality.  
And thought the nearest way was to be lewd,  
While all Degrees the Dehochee pursued;  
But like true Cit did always evangelio,  
As well in Lewdness as in Fashions too;  
Drinking's his leading 'vice, his Darling Sin,  
That pumps his duller Inclination in;  
Then loud as Storms, encouraged for all evil,  
Swears and invokes by Healths his Guardian Devil.   

By chance the Poet Elcanah was there  
To make 'em sport, for 'twas not yet the Fair;  
With many more too scandalous to name,  
Whose Talents are to swear, whore, drink and game;  
At a large Table they were seated round,  
With Bottles, Snush, foul Pipes and Glasses crowned,  
Boxes and Dice— but whether false or true,  
I leave it to the Fools that Night shall rue;  
For there was Country Squi●e and City Cully,  
That came to see the Show, looked to by Bully,  
Where bubbl'd of their coin, they healed are  
A la campaign— that is, with cheer entire:  
Damme, cries Grab, each Prig his Buttork bring,  
And let us forthwith fall to managing;  
When I am boozing, clear old Dudgeon's Drolish,  
Then let my Natural be a Jump, a Polish,  
I sink her down— Then makes some nasty Jest,  
And Crowns it with a Bumper to the Best;  
( And calls for Link-boy, swears his Pego's nice  
And therefore cannot deal in common 'vice.)  
Then to the Height of Lewdness they retire,  
And Venus must extinguish Bacchus fire.   

Thus 'tis when Men forsake an honest Trade,  
How much a better Pedant thou hadst made;  
Or( bilking sharp) hadst bully'd up and down,  
And scared the Trembling Mortals of the Town?  
This was thy Talent, this thy proper Sphere;  
Yet still this Part of thee remains while here,  
That thou canst cheat, oppress, and domineer.  
Tho thus much by thy Foes must be confessed,  
Of all thy roaring Tribe thou art the best.   

The rest such Cowards, Sots, such hardened Rogues,  
Blasphemers, Villains, Rake-hells, Swines and Dogs,  
Have newer Sins than were to Sodom known,  
And if just heaven should sand his Vengeance down,  
There's ●ot one Lot to save a sinking Town.   

But numberless and endless 'twere to tell  
All the rank 'vice that fills this Local Hell.  
All which the Phantom does in hast survey,  
He scents the Morning Air, and must away,  
And on the Eastern Hill he views the breaking day.  
Yet e're he goes with a Remorse extreme  
Looks back and sighs o'er this Jerusalem;  
Nor could depart till like the Prophet too,  
In whispering Our pronounced thrice— wo, wo, wo,  
And then methought I heard a Hollow Sound,  
Like echoes that from Caves and Rocks rebound;  
And thus it spake— Full five and twenty years  
I reigned, without the Noise or Toil of Wars,  
Bore all th' Indignities of Factious Power,  
And saw my Life in danger every hour;  
Yet rather had resigned it up in Peace,  
Than owed my Safety to such Brutes as these;  
At best a Scare-crow Rebels to affright,  
Put them to Action, and scarce one will fight.   

Ah, great Augustus! thou deserv'st an Host  
Of Heroes, such as ancient Rome produced;  
When each Commander should like Scipio be;  
Or rather like the yet more Godlike thee,  
Brave, Temperate, Prudent to the last degree.  
The common Rout all Sceva's in the Field,  
Who bore a thousand Arrows in his Shield.  
At least they should have Souls to be inspired,  
And by thy great Example to be fired;  
Thy Constancy and Valour imitate,  
And raise at once thy Glory and the State.  
This said, and parting with a pitying Look,  
towards his Eternal Hope his way he took,  
And blessed his Fate he could again return  
To the blessed Confines of his peaceful Urn.    

The Fourth satire of Boileau to W. K. 1687.  

BElieve me, Will, that those who have least Sense,  
Think they to Wisdom have the sole Pretence;  
And that those riches who in Bethlem are,  
Deserve it less than those who put them there.   

The haughty Pedant, swollen with Frothy Name  
Of Learned Man, big with his classic famed;  
A thousand Books red o'er and o'er again,  
Does word for word most perfectly retain,  
heaped in the Lumber-Office of his Brain;  
Yet this crammed Skull, this undigested Mass,  
Does very often prove an arrant Ass;  
Believes all Knowledge is to Books confined,  
That reading only can inform the Mind;  
That Sense must Err, and Reason ramble wide,  
If Sacred Aristotle ben't their Guide.   

While, on the other hand, a fluttering thing,  
With a full Roll, and three piled Crevat string,  
Whose Life's a Visit, who alone takes care  
To say fine things, writ Songs, and count the Fair;  
Laughs at the musty Precepts of the School,  
Calls the learned Writer an authentic Fool;  
Swears that all Learning is a thing unfit  
A well-bread Person, or a Man of Wit;  
Names proper only to the Sparks o' th' Town,  
And dams his Scholar to his college Gown.   

The fierce Bigot, who vainly does believe  
His bantring Zeal can Heaven itself deceive;  
With Saint-like Looks the bleer-ey'd Crowd does blind,  
And the Jilt Villain damns all Human kind.  
While the wild Libertine, that Beast of Prey,  
Who bears down all that stops him in his way,  
Ranges o'er all, and takes his savage fill  
In the wild foreste of a boundless will:  
Swears that Heaven, Jove's, and Hells Eternal Pain,  
Are the sick Dreams of a distempered Brain,  
Tales fit for Children, a mere holy Jest,  
to starve the People, and to glut the Priest.   

The sharpest satirist with poetic Rage  
Strives to reform the Vices of the Age;  
Laughs at the Fool, and at the Villain rails;  
Yet Folly reigns, and villainy prevails;  
While the cracked Skull shows all that has been said,  
Leaves Marks on nothing but the Poet's Head:  
For partial Man, tried by himself alone,  
Protesting every Sentence but his own;  
Severe to all Men, to himself too kind,  
Sees others Faults, but to his own is blind,   

The sordid Miser, a mere lump of day,  
formed into Man e're from its gross alloy,  
It was refined by the Souls Heavenly Ray,  
Whose Thirst of Wealth increases with his Store,  
And to spend less, does covet to have more;  
Who Midas-like, to feed his Avarice,  
Starves in the enjoyment of a golden wish;  
Thinks himself wise, boasts of being provident,  
And down-right Scraping calls good Management.   

The Love of Wealth is madness, and I hate  
The very trouble of a great Estate:  
'tis perfect Dirt, cries the vain Prodigal,  
Mad till 'tis gone, and when he has spent all,  
The beggared Fool calls himself Liberal.   

Now weigh them ●oth, and tell me, if you can,  
Which of the two seems the most prudent Man:  
The Gamester swears both should in Bethlem be,  
That Fortune-monger, maddest of the three,  
Whose Life, whose Soul, whose very heaven is Play,  
At which the Bubble throws them all away;  
Who every moment waits his Destiny  
From the uncertain running of a Die;  
And, if he chance to lose, then how he stars!  
Then how the Fury, with his bristled Hairs  
Curses his Fate! Earth, Hell, and Heaven defies,  
And with Oaths heaped on Oaths, he storms the Skies.   

I could name thousands more, but to draw all  
The Shapes of this false Reasoning Animal,  
would be as hard, as to count all that die  
Each Spring and Fall by lower and Mercury:  
Or say how of th' impatient Heir, to have  
The Old Man's wealth, has wished him in his Grave:  
A Drudgery so great my Pen declines,  
Content to sum up all in these four Lines.  
Greece boasts seven Sages, but the Story lies,  
For the whole World ne'er saw one truly Wise:  
All Men are Mad; and the sole Difference  
Lies in the More, or the Less, want of Sense.    

A Cawdle for a Sick Jesuit.  
FRom Rome's Infallibility take a Grain,  
Two Drams of Inquisition fetch from Spain;  
Of Dr— Honesty one Mite engage,  
Dr— the Glory of the British Stage!  
o'er Flaming Coals in 〈◇〉 let 'em blow it,  
Till the all-conquering 〈◇〉 dissolve the Poet.  
Add, that the Fire and Brimstone be not dull,  
Two Grains of Wit drained from an Irish skull,  
With Conscience galling for those senseless Gulls,  
To see th' untimely Fate of twenty Bulls.  
From Statute-Shelfs pull down the Acts, and drain  
The Twenty Fifth of old Queen Bess's Reign;  
Set those on Coals of Purgatory-Fire,  
The space the Devil napping catched the friar;  
'twill cure all Maladies, tho concealed in Closet,  
And 'tis the true Catholic-Cordial Posset.   

A Congratulatory Poem on his Highness the Prince of Orange, his coming into England. Written by Mr. Thomas Shadwell.  

OUR Glorious Realm, o'er all the Earth renowned,  
Once with the Noblest Government was crowned;  
By which all Foreign Tyrannies were awed,  
easy we were at home and Terrible abroad.   

All our wise Laws of Empire were designed  
Nor for the Lust of one, but good of all Mankind;  
The great Prerogative was understood  
A vast unbounded power of doing good:  
From doing ill, by Laws it was confined;  
If Sanctions, Pacts, or Oaths, could Princes bind,  
By Ancient usages and Laws they swayed,  
Which both were by the choice of Subjects made.  
Old Customs grew to Laws by long consent,  
And to each Written Law of Parliament:  
Freedom in Boroughs, and in Land Freehold;  
Gave all, who had them, Voices, uncontrolled:  
But few new Rights were by new Laws obtained,  
Only some ravished liberties regained.  
Who had no Voices, yet alike were bound  
By the Protection, which from Law's they found,  
For every one in those had equal right,  
And no great Man could injure, or affright;  
Where Subjects in the Laws can claim no share.  
'Twixt them and cattle no distinctions are.  
This was the Constitution of our State,  
And true Religion flourished in its height:  
From lying Legends, false Traditions, free,  
From Monkish Ignorance, Schoolmens Frippery,  
From Idols, and from Papal Tyranny.  
Their building made of Stubble and of Hay,  
Was by our Wise Reformers swept away;  
Thus we enjoyed a happy Union,  
Under the great Eliza, perfect grown,  
Hers and the Peoples Int'rests, were thought one.  
She, and the Realm, with mutual kindness striven,  
Great its Obedience, and as great her Love;  
Long might such happiness have been enjoyed,  
Had it not been b' Ambitious Priests destroyed.  
Those haughty Priests could not contented be  
With what remained from Popish Dignity,  
But would their Hierarchy have greater made,  
With cast off Rights the Laity th' invade,  
And call in Jus Divinum to their aid.  
With that invisible Commission armed  
Our Kings, with sovereign, and Inherent charmed,  
With Sacred Person, power without a Bound,  
Prerogative unlimited, no ground  
Whereof is in our Constitution found.  
Thus they, by ecclesiastic Flattery,  
turned Kings to Tyrants, and to Slaves, the free;  
These Furious Fools yet Wise Divines contemned,  
And their rash Doctrines, privately condemned;  
None dare in public say they were unsound,  
But Fines, and Pillories, and Brands, were found.  
For now commissioned from above the Sky,  
Kings soon were deemed for Laws, and Oaths too high;  
Hotly 'twas taught, they were not bound by Oaths,  
Because no power above them to impose.  
'twas now no Kingly Office nor a Trust,  
No Laws to Rule by but their sovereign Lust;  
And all the Land for their Estate they owned,  
The Subjects were their Stock upon the Ground.  
At length, to rivet on the Chains we wore,  
lewd Knaves in Quoifs yield the Dispensing power,  
Which never Tyrant here had claimed before.  
The Scandals of the Bar must now be found  
To give the Government this mortal wound;  
Which at one blow took all its strength away,  
And down in pieces dashed, the Noble Structure lay.  
ruin and Rubbish covered all the Ground,  
And no Remains were of the building found.  
Monsters of Roman and Hybernian Race,  
With Phangs and Claws infect the wasted place:  
With one of british kind, who swallowed more  
Than any other Bloody Beast of power;  
Fiercely he goggled, his Jaws opened wide,  
Louder he roared than all the Beasts beside.  
Some like Jaccals, before him preyed for Blood,  
And to his ravenous Maw brought all they could:  
Against the Rapine of these Beasts of Prey,  
First Londons Noble Prelate stood at Bay;  
One fit t' atone for all the Clergies Blots,  
For three vile English Bishops, and twelve Scots.  
Then Valiant Fairfax and brave Hough made head,  
But by these Monsters were discomfited;  
And now the trembling Church began to reel,  
And the effects of Non-resistance feel  
Where Jus Divinum was not on their side;  
They striven to stop the fierce impetuous tide.  
Seven Suffering Heroes gave it such a shock,  
It seemed to dash its Surges on a Rock;  
But showers of Locusts came with thickest Fogs,  
From Tybers Marshes and from Shanons Bogs;  
Vast clouds of Vermin hasten to their aid,  
And intercepting light thick darkness made;  
All clouded was our Sullen Hemisphere,  
But Lo! the Glorious Orange does appear!  
And by his Universal Influence,  
Does to our Drooping Land new Life dispense;  
His heat ferments that Lump, was dead before,  
Which now in every part exerts its power;  
To purge its self, that it may clean become,  
The Fermentation soon throws off the Scum.  
And every part does tow'ards Perfection move,  
towards Strength, and Soundness, Harmony& Love:  
When Earth oppressed, with darkness over-spread,  
From filthy Boggy exhalations bread.  
The Sun with noiseless Marches of his light,  
Discusses Vapours, and dispels the Night;  
With Equal Silence in his Glorious Race,  
Our noisome Fogs does the Brave Orange Chase:  
Does all the powers of Darkness put to flight,  
And the Infernal Ministers of Night;  
The Guilty Spirits shun th' approach of light.  
When undistinguished in the Mighty Mass,  
And in Stagnation Universal matter was;   

Huddled in heaps the differing atoms lay  
Quiet, and had no Laws of Motion to obey:  
Th' Eternal Mover threw the ferment in,  
The Solid atoms did their Course begin;  
The quickening Mass moves now in every part,  
And does its plastic Faculties exert.  
The jarring atoms move into a peace,  
And all Confusion, and Disorders cease:  
The Ugly undigested Lump became,  
The perfect Glorious, and well ordered Frame.  
Let there be Light, th' Almighty fiat Run,  
No sooner 'twas pronounced, but it was done:  
inspired by heaven, thus the great Orange said,  
Let there be Liberty, and was obeyed.  
Vast Wonders Heav'ns great Minister h'as wrought,  
From our dark Chaos, beauteous Order brought:  
H'invaded us with Force to make us free,  
And in anothers Realm, could meet no Enemy.  
Hail Great Assertor, of the Greatest Cause;  
Mans Liberty, and the Almighty's Laws:  
heaven Greater Wonders has for thee designed.  
Thou Glorious Deliv'rer of Mankind!    

A Congratulatory Poem to the most Illustrious Queen Mary, upon her Arrival in England. By Thomas Shadwell.  
MADAM,  
immured with Rocks of Ice no riches left  
Hopeless of Life, of Heat and Light bereft,  
Under the Influence of the rugged Bear,  
Where but one Day and Night is all the Year,  
With never so much transporting Joy could meet  
The dawning Day, as Your Approach we greet:  
Your Beams revived us from the Belgian Shore:  
Which now our long-lov'd Princess does restore.  
What could make us so rich? Or them so poor?  
The World nought equal to our Joy can find,  
But the despairing Grief You left behind.  
We from the Mighty States have now gained more  
●… an by our Aid they ever got before.  
●… hen the Great Vere's and Sidney's won such famed,  
●… at each of them immortalliz'd 'd his Name.  
●… t Alva's Rage would have distress 'd them so  
〈…〉, MADAM, we have done, recalling You.  
●… r adored Princess to Batavians lent,  
●… ome to us with mighty Interest sent:  
●… r we, with her, have won the Great Nassau,  
●… hose Sword shall keep the Papal World in awe,  
●… e comes, She comes, the Fair, the Good, the Wise,  
●… ith loudest Acclamations rend the Skies,  
●… ck all the Steeples, kindle ever Street,  
●… under ye Cannons from each Fort and Fleet.  
〈…〉 all the neighbouring Lands sound out your Joys,  
●… d let France shake at the Triumphant Noise.  
●… ess'd be the rising Waves, the murmuring Gales  
●… ain'd the Mighty Cargo, swelled the sails.  
●… ess'd be the Vessel, as that was which bore  
●… he Sacred Remnant, when there was no Shore.  
●… ot the returning Dove they welcomed so  
〈…〉 we our MARY, who brings Olive too;  
●… hat only promised Safety to their Lives,  
●… his our lost Peace and Liberty revives.  
●… ss'd, blessed be his Invasion, which made way  
〈…〉 this most happy and Illustrious Day.  
〈…〉 brave an Action, so renowned a Name,  
●… as never yet written in the Book of famed.  
●… t Parasites call Princes Wise, and Brave,  
●… ho bear inglorious Arms but to enslave.  
●… r Prince will break those Chains wherewith they bind:  
●… is his true Glory to enlarge Mankind.  
〈…〉 any Land You would Dominion gain;  
●… d MADAM, in each Common-Wealth would Reign.  
Where'er your God-like PRINCE from us should g●…  
They would like us, submit without a Blow.  
In his short Sway more Wisdom He has shown,  
Than here before in Ages has been known.  
The Name of KING adds nothing to his famed;  
But his great Virtues dignify that Name.  
What Land can boast of such a matchless Pair,  
Like him so wise, so brave; like You so wise, so fai●…  
Where e're so many sacred Virtues join,  
They to a sceptre show a Right Divine.  
Who are approved so Valiant, Wise and Just,  
Have the best Titles to the highest Trust,  
Though from the Loins of greatest Kings derived,  
That Title's not so strong, nor so long lived;  
For Princes more of solid Glory gain,  
Who are thought fit, than who are born to Reign.   

Ode on the Anniversary of the King's Birt●… By Thomas Shadwell.  

WElcome, thrice welcome, this Auspicious Mor●…  
On which the Great Nassau was Born,  
Sprung from a mighty Race, which was designed  
For the Deliv'rers of Mankind.  
Illustrious Heroes, whose prevailing Fates  
raised the distressed, to High and Mighty States;  
And did by that possess more true Renown,  
Than their Adolphus gained by the Imperial Crow●…  
They cooled the Rage, humbled the Pride of Spain,  
●… t since the Insolence of France no less,  
Had brought the States into Distress,  
●… t that a precious Scien did remain  
●… om that Great Root, which did the shock sustain,  
●… d made them High and Mighty once again.   

●… his Prince for us, was Born to make us free  
From the most abject Slavery.  
●… how hast restored our Laws their Force again;  
●… e still shall Conquer on the Land by thee;  
By thee shall Triumph on the Main.   

●… t thee a Fate much more sublime attends,  
●… rope for Freedom on thy Sword depends;  
And thy Victorious Arms shall tumble down  
The Savage Monster from the gallic Throne:  
To this Important Day, we all shall owe,  
●… h Glorious Birth, from which such blessed effects shall flow.   

On this glad Day let every Voice,  
And Instrument, Proclaim our Joys,  
And let all Europe join in the Triumphant Noise.  
jo triumph let us Sing,  
jo triumph let us Sing,  
●… nd let the Sound through all the spacious Welkin Ring.   

From thy fresh laurels shall the Olive spring,  
Thy Victories shall bring us Peace,  
And under Thee, our most Indulgent King,  
Shall Industry and Arts increase;  
●… uiet we shall possess, but not Inglorious Ease.  
Then shall each fertile Mead, and grateful Field,  
Amply reward our Care and Toil;  
The Herds and Flocks a vast increase shall yield,  
Which raging War shall never spoil,  
Free from Invading Force, and from Intestine Broi●…   

And though our plenteous Isle shall need no mor●…  
Than what its Soil for Natives does provide,  
Yet added to its mighty Store,  
Whatever any Foreign cost,  
Of Plenty, or of Wealth can boast,  
Shall on our Happy Shores flow in beside,  
From the superfluous Bounty of each Tide.   

Now Av'rice or Ambition in the Great,  
Shall under thee thy Godlike Power pervert,  
Rewards nor Threats corrupt thy judgement Seat;  
Nor Trusts be gained but by desert,  
While thy Great Self thy Wisdom shalt exert.  
Then shall the vile ungrateful murmuring Band,  
Whom our great Moses has set free  
From Egypts Bondage, and Idolatry,  
Glad to submit to his Command;  
For shane their guilty Heads hang down,  
Owning the best of Kings that ever filled the Thron●…   

Thus the prophetic Muses say,  
And all the Wise and Good will say,  
That they long, long, may celebrate this Day.  
Soon Haughty France shall bow, and Coz'ning Rom●…  
And Britain Mistress of the World become;  
And from thy wise, thy Godlike Sway,  
Kings learn to Reign, and Subjects to Obey.   

On this blessed Day let every Voice,  
And, &c.    

An Ode on the Queens Birth-Day, Sang before their Majesties at Whitehal.  By Tho. Shadwell. 

NOw does the glorious Day appear,  
The mightiest Day of all the Year;  
Not any one such Joy could bring,  
Not that which ushers in the Spring.   

That of ensuing Plenty hopes does give,  
This did the hope of Liberty retrieve;  
This does our Fertile Isle with Glory Crown,  
And all the Fruits it yields we now can call our own.  
On this blessed day was our Restorer born,  
Far above all let this the calendar Adorn.   

II.  
It was a work of full as great a weight,  
And require the self-same Power,  
Which did frail human kind Create,  
When they were lost them to restore;  
For a like Act, Fate gave our Princes Birth,  
Which adding to the Saints, made Joy in Heaven,  
As well as Triumphs upon Earth,  
To which so great, so good a Queen was given.   

III.  
By beauteous softness mixed with Majesty,  
An Empire over every Heart she gains,  
And from her aweful Power none could be free,  
She with such Sweetness and such Justice Reigns:  
Her Hero too, whose Conduct and whose Arms  
The trembling Papal World their Force most yield,  
Must bend himself to her victorious Charms,  
And give up all the Trophies of each Field.  
Our dear Religion, with our Laws defence,  
To God her Zeal, to Man Benevolence;  
Must her above all former Monarch raise  
To be the everlasting Theme of Praise;  
No more shall we the great Eliza boast,  
For her Great Name in Greater Mary's will be lost.   

Now now, with one united Voice  
Let us aloud proclaim our Joys;  
jo triumph let us sing,  
And make Heaven's mighty Concave Ring.    
FINIS.   

A SUPPLEMENT TO THE MUSES farewell TO Popery& Slavery, OR, A COLLECTION OF Miscellany Poems, Satyrs, Songs, &c.  
Made by the Most Eminent Wits of the Nation, as the Shams, intrigues, and Plots of Priests and Jesuits gave occasion.  Suis& ipsa Roma, viribus ruit, Hor. 
LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1690.   

THE CONTENTS.  

THE Observator: Or the History of Hodge, as reported by some; from his siding with Noll, and scribbling for Rome, p. 1.  
The Farewell, p. 5.  
The Scamperers, p. 6.  
The Miracle: How the duchess of Modena( being in Heaven) prayed the B. Virgin, that the Queen might have a Son, and how our Lady sent the Angel Gabriel with her Smock; upon which the Queen was with Child, p. 9.  
Dialogue, p. 11.  
The prophesy, p. 14.  
An Excellent New Ballad, called, The Prince of Darkness: showing how Three Nations may be set on Fire by a Warming-Pan, p. 16.  
A New Song, p. 17.  
A New Song, p. 19.    

Miscellany POEMS.  

The Oservator. Or the History of Hodge, as reported by some; from his siding with Noll, and scribbling for Rome.  
STand forth thou grand Impostor of our time,  
The Nations scandal, Punishment and Crime;  
Unjust Usurper of ill gotten Praise,  
Unmatch'd by all but thy lewd Brother Bays;  
How well have you your federal Gallants choose,  
Damnably to plague the World in Verse and Prose.  
Like two Twin Comets: when you do appear  
We justly may suspect some danger near.  
He lately did under correction pass,  
honoured by that great hand that gave the Lash,  
A doom too glorious for that cursed head,  
And unproportion'd to the Life he led,  
But you are to a viler fate designed,  
To suffer by a vulgar hand like mine,  
We'll tear your Vizard and unmask your shane,  
And at each corner Gibbet up your name.  
Expose you to the Scorn of all you meet,  
As Dogs drag grinning Cats about the Street.  
Under Usurping Noll you first began  
To rear your Head and show yourself a Man;  
Unpittying saw the Royal Party fall,  
And danced and Fiddled to the Funeral;  
disclaimed their Interest and renounced their side,  
And with the independent strait complied;  
Officious in their Service wrote for Hire;  
A brisk Crowdero in the Factious choir:  
Your nimble Pen on all their Errands run;  
The Horoscope still opens to the Sun.  
There 'twas in those unhappy days,  
You laid foundation for designed Praise;  
By disrespect ignobly purchased shane,  
And damned your Soul to scandalise your Name:  
When Charles at length by Providence came in,  
You faced about and quickly changed the Scene;  
turned to new Notes your mercenary strings,  
Began to play Divinity of Kings:  
Your former Master straightway is forgot,  
styled Villain, Rogue, Thief Murderer, what not?  
Such recompense he doth deserve to have,  
Who for his Interest durst employ a Knave.  
Now 'twas a time you thought to take your ease,  
After such great Exploits performed as these:  
Applauding to yourself your own deserts,  
You straight set up for a vain Ass of Parts;  
Resolving that the Ladies too should know,  
What other Tricks and Gambals you could do.  
Was there a skipping Whore about the Town?  
Or private Baudy-house to you unknown?  
Here for a Stallion, there for a Pimp you went;  
To do both Drudgeries alike content.  
But Ill success you had with Madam C—k,  
Whom in the Act her Husband took:  
Strong Bastinado o'er your shoulders laid,  
Made you a while surcease that lecherous trade,  
Till growing old in customary sin,  
You with a Chaster Lady did begin.  
Whom when you found she all Assaults refused,  
And would not yield her self to be abused;  
Down on your Knees you presently was laid,  
And thus( O righteous Heaven) devoutly prayed;  
Since you disdain the kind request to grant,  
Dear Madam let me lay my hand upon't.  
This is the Man whose whole Discourse and tone,  
Is Honour, Justice, Truth, Religion;  
Was such a Godly Rascal ever known?  
But now reformed by indigence of Gold.  
Your former wanton course grew slacken and could,  
For 'twas at first indeed too hot to hold.  
Now new expedients must employ your Brain,  
And other Methods for advance of Gain;  
Something contrived in private, touched the State,  
Which made you timely think of a retreat;  
Beyond Sea then the wretched Caitiff flies,  
A guilty Conscience has Quick-sighted Eyes.  
When you return'd, you fell to work amain,  
And took up your old scribbling trade again;  
Some sorry scandal on Fanaticks thrown,  
And viler Canting upon Forty one;  
You thought sufficient to oblige the Crown;  
Then who but you, the World was all your own.  
Now for the Church of England you declare,  
A witty zealous Protestant appear;  
Your secret spies and emissa●ies use  
To pay for false Intelligence and News:  
When named in two Diurnals you dispense  
Equally voided of Reason, Truth, and Sense.  
Guinea's now from every quarter came  
To pay respect to your increasing famed,  
While you at Sam's like a grave Doctor sate,  
Teaching the Minor Clergy how to prate,  
Who licked your Spittle up and then came down,  
And  shed the nasty Drivel o'er the Town.  
Ay these were blessed times and happy days,  
When all the World conspired to your praise:  
He who refused and would no Token sand,  
Must be traduced as the Dissenters Friend:  
And that your Greatness no regard might lack,  
You got a Knighthood chopped upon your Back.  
But something now has stopped that rapid stream,  
And you have nothing more to say for them:  
Your piercing Eye discovers from a far,  
The glittering Glory of some further Star,  
Which bids you pay your adoration there.  
Inconstant Rover, whether dost thou tend?  
When will thy tedious villainies have end?  
Whither at last dost thou intend to go?  
Of which party wilt thou e'er prove true?  
To Turk, or Pope, to Protestant or Jew?  
Should I here all thy villainies recount,  
To what a mighty sum do they amount?  
Thy solemn Protestations, Oaths and Lies,  
Devices, Shams, Evasions, Perjuries,  
My Paper to a volume would exceed,  
Of greater bulk than Hollingshead and Speed.  
For thou art now so scandalously known,  
And so remarkable in 'vice alone,  
That every one can find a ston to throw  
At such a snarling pimping Cur as thou.  
But wretch! if still thou art not past all Grace,  
And wholesome counsel can with thee find place;  
If thou at last sincerely wouldst atone,  
And expiate thy former mischiefs done,  
Like dying Judas render back thy pelf,  
Recant thy Books and then go hang thyself.   

The Farewell.  

I.  
FArewell P—, farewell across;  
Farewell C—, farewell Ass.  
Farewell P—, farewell Tool,  
Farewell S—, farewell Fool.   

II.  
Farewell M—, farewell Scot;  
Farewell B—, farewell Sot.  
Farewell R—, farewell Trimmer;  
Farewell D—, farewell Rhymer.   

III.  
Farewell B—, farewell Villain;  
Farewell w—, worse than Tresilian.  
Farewell Chancellor, farewell Mace;  
Farewell Prince, farewell Race.   

IV.  
Farewell Q—, farewell Passion;  
Farewell K—, farewell Nation,  
Farewell Priests, and farewell Pope;  
Farewell all that deserve a R—    

The SCAMPERERS.  
To the Tune of, Packinton's Pound.  

WHen the Joy of all Hearts,& desire of all Eyes,  
In whom our chief Refuge and Confidence lies,  
The Protestant Bulwark against all Despair,  
Has deprived us at once, of her self and her Heir:  
That hopeful young Thing,  
Begot by a King,  
And a Q. whose Perfections over all the world ring.  
A Father whose Courage no Mortal can daunt,  
And a Mother whose Virtue no Scandal can taint.   

II.  
When Jeffryes resigns up the Purse and the Mace,  
Whose impudent Arrogance gained him the place,  
When, like Lucifer, thrown from the height of his pride,  
And the Knot of his villainies strangely untied.  
From the Chancery Bawling,  
He turns a Tarpaulin;  
Men still catch at any thing when they are falling:  
But a plague of ill fortune, before he could scour,  
He was taken at Wapping, and sent the Tower.   

III.  
When Confessor Petre's does yield up the Game,  
And proves to the worst of Religion a shane;  
When his cheating no more o'er our Reason prevails,  
But is blasted like that of his true Prince of Wales;  
Which was his Contrivance,  
And our Wise King's Connivance,  
To establish the Papists, and Protestants drive hence:  
But their Cobweb Conception is brought to the Test,  
And the coming of Orange has quiter spoiled the Jest:   

IV.  
When Pet— noted for all that is ill,  
Was urged by his Wife to the making his Will;  
At the hearing which words he did stare, foam& roar,  
Then broken out in Cursing and calling her Whore.  
And for two hours at least  
His Tongue never ceased,  
He railed on Religion, and damned the poor Priest,  
And his Friends, who had hope to behold him expire,  
Are afraid by this 'bout they shall lose their desire.   

V.  
Young S— famed in this great Expedition,  
Not for going to War, but obtaining Commission;  
It's no Mystery to me if his Courage did fail,  
When the greatest of Monarchs himself did turn Tail:  
So that if he took Flight,  
With his Betters by night,  
I am apt to believe the pert Spark was i'th' right;  
For the Papists this Maxim do every where hold,  
To be forward in Boasting, in Courage less Bold.   

VI.  
Nor should B—, P—, and A— throng,  
But each in due place have his Attributes sung.  
Yet since 'tis believed by the strange turn of Times,  
They'll be called to account for their Treasonable Crimes,  
While the damned Popish Plot,  
Is not yet quiter forgot,  
For which the Lord St— went justly to Pot;  
And to their great comfort I'll make it appear,  
They that gave them their Freedom, themselves are not clear.   

VII.  
Wi. w—, that Friend to the Bishops and Laws,  
As the Devil would have it, espoused the wrong Cause;  
Now loathed by the Commons, and scorned by the Peers,  
His Patent for Honour, in pieces he tears,  
Both our Britains are fooled,  
Who the Laws over-ruled,  
And next Parliament each will be plaguily schooled:  
Then try if your Cunning can find out a Flaw  
To preserve you from judgement according to Law.   

VIII.  
Sir Edward Hale's Actions I shall not repeat,  
Till by Axe, or by Halter, his Life he complete,  
Pen's History shall be related by lob,  
Who has ventured his Neck for a Snack in the Jobb,  
All their Priests and Confessors,  
With their Dumb Idol-Dressers,  
Shall meet that Reward which is due to Transgressors,  
And no Papist henceforth shall these Kingdoms inherit,  
But ORANGE shall reap the Fruit of his Merit.    

The Miracle; How the duchess of Modena( being in Heaven) prayed the B. Virgin that the Queen might have a Son, and how our Lady sent the Angel Gabriel with her Smock; upon which the Queen was with Child.  
To the Tune of, O Youth, thou handst better been starved at Nurse. In Bartholomew-Fair.  

YOU catholic States men and Church-men rejoice,  
And Praise Heavens Goodness with Heart and with Voice;  
None greater on Earth or in Heaven than she,  
Some say she's as good as the best of the three.  
Her Miracles bold,  
Were Famous of Old,  
But a braver than this is was never yet  told;  
'tis pity that every good catholic living,  
Had nor heard on't before the last day of Thanksgiving.   

II.  
In Lombardy-Land, great Modena's duchess  
Was snatched from her Empire by Death's cruel Clutches,  
When to Heaven she came( for thither she went)  
Each Angel received her with Joy and Content.  
On her knees she fell down,  
Before the bright Throne,  
And begged that Gods Mother would grant her one Boon;  
Give England a Son( at this Critical Point)  
To put little Orange's Nose out of joint.   

III.  
As soon as our Lady had heard her Petition,  
To Gabriel, the Angel, she strait have Commission  
She plucked off her Smock from her shoulders divine  
And charged him to hasten to Englands fair Queen.  
Go to the Royal Dame,  
To give her the same,  
And bid her for ever to praise my Great Name;  
For I, in her favour, will work such a Wonder,  
Shall keep the most Insolent heretics under.   

IV.  
Tell James( my best Son) his part of the matter  
Must be with this, Only to cover my Daughter;  
Let him put it upon her with's own Royal Hand;  
Then let him go travail to visit the Land;  
And the Spirit of Love,  
Shall come from above,  
Tho not as before, in form of a Dove;  
Yet down he shall come in some likeness or other,  
( Perhaps like Count Dada) and make her a Mother.   

V.  
The Message with hearts full of Faith were received,  
And the next news we heard was Q. M. conceived;  
You great ones Converted, poor cheated Dissenters,  
Grave Judges, Lords, Bishops,& Commons, Consenters  
You Commissioners all,  
Ecclesiastical,  
From M— the Dutiful, to C— the Tall;  
Pray Heaven to strengthen Her Majesties Placket,  
For if this Trick fail, beware of your Jacket.    

DIALOGUE.  M. 

WHY am I daily thus perlex'd?  
Why beyond Womans patience vexed?  
Your Spurious Issue grow and thrive;  
While mine are dead e'er well alive.  
If they survive a nine days wonder,  
Suspicious Tongues aloud do thunder;  
And streight accuse my Chastity,  
For your damned Insufficiency:  
You meet my Love with no desire,  
My Altar damps your feeble fire:  
Though I have infinite more Charms  
Than all you e'er took to your Arms.   

The Priest at th' Altar bows to me;  
When I appear he bends the Knee.  
His Eyes are on my Beauties fixed,  
His prayers to heaven and Me are mixed;  
Confusedly he tells his Beads,  
Is out both when he preys and Reads.   

I travelled farther for your Love,  
Than Sheba's Queen, I'll fairly prove.  
She from the South, 'tis said, did rome,  
And I as far from East did come.  
But here the difference does arise,  
Though equally we sought the prise;  
What that great Queen desired she gained,  
But I soon found your Treasury drained,  
Your Veins corrupted in your Youth,  
'tis sad Experience tells this Truth:  
Though I had caution long before  
Of that which I too late deplore.   J. 

Pray, Madam, let me silence break,  
As I have you, now hear me speak.  
These Stories sure must please you well,  
You're apt so often them to tell.   

But, if you'll smooth your brow a while,  
And turn that Pout into a Smile,  
I doubt not, but to make't appear,  
That you the greatest Aggressor are.   

I took you with an empty Purse,  
Which was to me no trivial Curse,  
No Dowry could your Parents give;  
theyed but a Competence to live.  
When you appeared, your Charming Eyes  
( As you relate) did me surprise  
With Wonder, not with Admiration,  
Astonishment, but no Temptation:  
Nor did I see in all your Frame,  
Ought could create an amorous flamme,  
Or raise the least Desire in me,  
Save only for Variety.  
I paid such Service as was due,  
Worthy myself, and worthy you:  
caressed you far above the rate  
Both of your Birth, and your Estate.  
When soon I found your haughty mind  
Was unto sovereignty inclined;  
And first you practised over me  
The heavy Yoke of Tyranny,  
While I your Property was made,  
And you, not I, was still obeyed:  
Nor durst I call my Soul my own,  
You managed me as if I'd none.  
I took such measures as you gave,  
All day your Fool, all night your slave.   

Nor was Ambition bounded here,  
You still resolved your course to steer:  
All that oppose you, you remove;  
'twas much you'd own the Powers above.  
Now several Stratagems you try,  
And I 'm in all forced to comply:  
To Mother Church you take Recourse,  
She tells you 'tmust be done by force;  
And you, impatient of delay,  
Contrive and execute the way.   

When mounted to the place you sought,  
It no Contentment with it brought:  
One three within your Prospect stood  
Fairest and tallest of the Wood:  
Which to your prospect gave offence,  
And it must be removed from thence.  
In this you also are obeyed,  
While all the Fault on me is laid.   

Now you was quiet for a while,  
As flattering Weather seems to smile,  
Till buzzing Beetles of the Night  
Had found fresh matter for your spite,  
And set to work your busy Brain,  
Which took Fire quickly from their Train.  
Some Wise, some Valiant, you remove,  
'Cause they your Maxims don't approve;  
And in in their stead such Creatures place  
Which to th' Employments bring disgrace:  
While whatsoe'r you do I own,  
And still the dirt on me is thrown.   

strait new Chimear's fill your Brain,  
The humming Beetles buzz again;  
A Goal-Delivery now must be,  
All tender Consciences set free;  
Not out of Zeal, but pure Design  
To make Dissenters with us join,  
To pull down Test and Penal Laws,  
The Bulwark of the heretics Cause.  
The sly Dissenters laugh the while,  
They see where lurks the Serpents guile;  
And rather than with us comply,  
Will on our Enemies rely.  
The Chieftains of the Protestant Cause,  
We did confine, though 'gainst the Laws:  
But soon was glad to set 'em free,  
Fearing the giddy Mobile.   

Now all is turning upside down,  
Loud Murmuring's in every Town;  
We've Foes abroad, and Foes at home,  
Armies and Fleets against us come:  
The Protestants do laugh the while,  
And the Dissenters sneer and smile;  
But no assistance either sends;  
They're neither Enemies nor Friends.   

Now pray conclude what must be done,  
Consult your Oracle of ROME,  
For next fair Wind be sure they come.    

The prophesy.  

WHen the K. leaves of S— ly,& holds to the Queen  
And Berwick has fought as many Battles as he's seen,  
Then Cl— ford shall look like a Lass of fifteen,  
And Popery out of this Nation shall run.   

When M— shall leave off his Lust and his Pride,  
And C— wall his Pimp, which none but his breed,  
Then M— lechery shall be denied.  
And Popery, &c.   

When B— ly the cynic leaves being tissic,  
And of his Wifes virtue writes a large panegyric,  
Then his Manners shall fight for his good Natures Merit,  
And Popery, &c.   

When R— gives up his 12 s. i'th' Pound,  
And the Army does B— Generosity sound,  
Then D— refusing of Bribes shall be found;  
And Popery, &c.   

When G— his Conscience shall fly in's face,  
And rather than Vote 'gainst the the Test leaves place,  
And S— likewise shall have no more Grace;  
And Popery, &c.   

When C— and D— for Religion die Martyrs,  
And C— refuses to be Knight of the Garter.  
Then the Country no longer shall the Dragoons Quarter;  
And Popery, &c.   

When the K. from the Word he hath given does swerve,  
And the Judges the Oath they have taken observe,  
Or for breaking have but what they deserve;  
And Popery, &c.   

When Archbishop of York we see Dr. Ken,  
And Compton made Bishop of London again,  
And Herbert Rule, as before, on the Main;  
And Popery, &c.   

When N— folk grows Rich, and P— is grows poor,  
When N— is humble S— cer demure,  
When the Town can love one,& the other endure;  
And Popery, &c.   

When T— 's turned out, and an Ormond put in,  
When the Groom of the Stool thinks declaring a Sin,  
Then Oxford shall have his Regiment again;  
And Popery, &c.   

When the P— of Denmark leaves w— direction,  
And is suff'red to bring what she breeds to perfection,  
And a Parliament's called by a legal Election;  
And Popery, &c.   

When Fe— hams Conduct a soldier shall prove him  
And the chancellor begs that the King would remove him  
Oh, then we shall see how the People will love him  
And Popery, &c.   

When Petres and P— Council shall fail,  
And if what the Q. goes with should prove a Female,  
Lord! How would the Romish Religion prevail,  
That out of this Nation it might not turn.    

An Excellent new Ballad, called, the Prince of Darkness; showing how three Nations may be set on Fire by a Warming-Pan.  
AS I went by St. James's I heard a bide sing,  
Of certain, the Q. has a Boy in the Spring,  
But one of the Chair-men did laugh and did say,  
It was born over Night,& brought forth the next day  
This Bantling was heard at St. James's to squaul,  
Which made the Q. make so much hast from White-H●…  
Peace, Peace, little Master, and hold up thy head,  
Here's Money bid for thee, the true Mother said;  
But no body knows from what Parish it came,  
And that is the reason it has not a Name.  
Good catholics all were afraid it was dying,  
There was such abundance of sighing and crying;  
Which is a good Token by which we may swear,  
It is the Q— s own, and the Kingdoms right Heir.  
Now if we should happen to have a true Lad,  
From the Loins of so wholesome a Mother and Dad,  
'twere hard to determine which Blood were the best,  
That of Southask, or the Bastard of Est;  
But now we have cause for thanksgiving indeed,  
There was no other way for mending the Breed.   

A New SONG.  
To the Tune of, Lilli-burlero.  

OUR History reckons some Kings of great famed,  
ninnie Mack Nero, Jemmy Transub,  
But none before this who deserved the Name  
Of Jemmy Mack Nero, Jemmy Transub;  
Nero, Nero, Nero, Nero, ninnie Mack Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, Nero, Nero, ninnie Mack Nero, &c.   

II.  
He picked up a parcel of Fools and Knaves,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
And make them all Judges to make us all Slaves,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

III.  
Then for the Church he solemnly swore,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
He took as much care as his Brother before,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

IV.  
To D— the dapper, and C— the tall,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
He added Tom. w— and Timothy H—,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

V.  
Yet for all this the heretic Clowns,  
ninnie Mack &c.  
Have set out a Fleet to ride in the Downs,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

VI.  
And General Scomberg fierce as a Bear,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Is coming a Board, let him come if he dare,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

VII.  
For now our brave K— has fitted his Arms,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
And all our Dear Joys are Landing in Swarms,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

VIII.  
What though the Dutch are so Impudent grown,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
To swear the K— s Son is none of his own.  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

IX.  
What need they make such a deal ado,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Is not our K— a Ch— g too,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.   

X.  
As long as he bought him with his French Pence,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
For matter of getting the Pope will dispense,  
ninnie Mack, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.  
Nero, Nero, &c.    

A New SONG.  
To the Tune of, Lulla by Baby.  

IN Rome there is a most fearful Rout,  
And what do you think it is about,  
Because the Birth of the Babe's come out:  
Sing lulla by Babee, by, by, by.   

The Jesuits swear the Midwife  told tales,  
And ruined His Highness the Prince of Wales;  
She's a Jade for her pains, Cutsplutter-anails:  
Sing lulla, &c.   

The Popish Crew did all protest,  
That twenty great men would swear at least,  
They see his Welsh Highness creep out of his Nest;  
Sing lulla, &c.   

The Goggle-ey'd Monster in the Tower,  
He peeped at his Birth for above an hour,  
And 'twas a true Prince of Wales he swore:  
Sing lulla, &c.   

Another great Lord, both Grave and Wise,  
Stood peeping between Her Majesties Thighs;  
He looked through a Glass for to save his Eyes:  
Sing lulla, &c.   

Both were so well satisfied,  
They knew the sweet Babe from a thousand they cried;  
'twas Born with the Print of a Tile on his Side:  
Sing lulla, &c.   

Some say 'tis a Prince of Wales by Right,  
And those that deny it tis out of spite;  
But God sand the Mother came honestly by't:  
Sing lulla, &c.   

Some Priest, they say, crept nigh her Honour,  
And spinkled some good Holy Water upon her:  
Which made her conceive of what has undone her.  
Sing lulla, &c.   

The Papists thought themselves greatly blessed,  
Before the young Babe was brought to the Test;  
But now they call Peters a Fool of a Priest:  
Sing lulla, &c.   

The Priests in order to fly to the Pope,  
Are got on Board on the Foreign Hope,  
For all that stay here will be sure of a Rope:  
Sing lulla by Babee, by, by, by.    
FINIS.