ROME RHYM'D TO DEATH …

ROME RHYM'D TO DEATH. Being a Collection OF CHOICE POEMS: In two parts.

Written by the E. of R. Dr. Wild, and others of the best Modern Wits.

LONDON, Printed for Iohn How, at the Seven Stars, at the South-West corner of the Royal Ex­change, in Cornhill. 1683.

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ROME RHYM'D to DEATH

ROME Rhym'd to Death, &c.
An Exclamation against POPERY:

By Dr. WILD.
PLot on proud Rome! and lay thy damn'd Design
As low as Hell, we'll find a Countermine:
Wrack thy curst Parts! and when thy ut­most Skill
Has prov'd unable to effect thy Will;
Call thy black Emissaries, let 'em go
To summon Traytors from the Shades below,
Where Infant Treason dates its Monstrous Birth;
Is nurst with Care, and after sent on Earth:
To some curst Monks, or wandring Iesuits Cell;
Where it thrives faster than it did in Hell!
Call bloody Brutus up, Lean Cassius too;
Let Faux and Catesby both, be of the Crew!—
Nay, rather than want Help, let your BVLLS run,
And Damn the Devil, if he do not come!
[Page 2]Yet after all your Plots, and Hatchings, we
(So long as CHARLES and's Senators agree)
Will warm our Hands at Bone-fires, Bells shall Ring;
And Traytor's Knells no longer Toll, but Sing.
We doubt not Rome, but Maugre all thy Skill,
The Glorious GOD of our Religion will,
In spite of all thy Art, preserve It still!
And his peculiar Care of It to shew,
Defend in Health, Its Great DEFENDER too!
I'th' Interim, Do thou new Crimes invent,
And we'll Contrive as subtil Punishment.
'Tis Autumn now with us; and every Tree,
Instead of Fruit, may bend with Popery.
`Twould be a Novel, tho no hated Sight,
If every Bough should bear a Iesuite!
We'll meet your Plots with Pikes, Daggers, with Swords;
And stead of long Cravats, we'll lend you Cords.
Each Stab in Private, we'll with Use return:
And whilst one Hangs, the other he shall Burn;
Till Tybourn's long-impoverish'd Squire appear,
Gay as the Idol, fills the Porph'ry Chair.
Yes, Mighty CHARLES at thy Command we'll run
Through Seas of Rebels Blood, to save thy Crown.
Our Wives, Estates, and Children too, shall be
But Whetstones to our Swords, when drawn for thee.
We'll Hack, and Slash, and Shoot, till Rome Condoles;
And Hell it self is cloy'd with Traytors Souls:
'Till Godfrey's wronged Ghost (which still does call
For Shoals of Rebels to attend his Fall;)
[Page 3]Cries out, Dear Protestants, no more pursue
Their Guilty Blood, my Manes have their Due!
This, Mighty Monarch! at thy Beck or Nod,
Shall be effected, as Thou wer't a God;
With so much Readiness, thy Royal Tongue
Shall hardly Speak, c're we revenge the Wrong
On thy curst Enemies; who whilst they state
Thy Death, shall feel themselves th' intended Fate;
And by a quick Reverse, be forc'd to try
The Dire Effects of their own Treachery.
Poor Scarlet Harlot, couldst thou stand in want
Of a Genteel, and Generous Gallant,
Whose Noble Soul to Baseness could not yield;
But wou'd ha [...]e try'd thy Int'rest in the Field,
We had not thus thy Policies condemn'd;
But thought Thee worthy of a Foe, or Friend:
Both which, with equal Estimate thoul't find,
Were always valu'd by an English Mind.
But Thou of late, so Treacherous do'st grow,
That we should blush, to own thee either now.
Base, and Perfidious too, thou do'st appear;
Sland'rest a Pope, and spoyl'st an Emperor.
What! is the Eagle from the Mitre flown?
Is there of Caesar nothing left in Rome?
Must that Renowned City, here-to-fore
Fam'd for her Vertues, well as for her Pow'r;
Instead of Consuls, Vagabonds employ?
And suborn Felons, MONARCHS to destroy?
Bribe Men (thro' Want made boldly Desperate)
To Fire-ball Cities, to their Grov'ling Fate;
[Page 4]Whilst Hellish-Iesuits Porters Garbs profane;
Assist the Fire, and Bless the growing Flame!
Must Rome's Great Pope, whose Piety should run
As an Example, thro' all Christendom;
Whose Signal Vertues, Arguments should be
Of his Admir'd Infallability?
Does he hire Ruffains, Iustices to Kill;
And send the Murd'res Pardons at his Will?
Bids them in Hereticks Blood their hands embrue;
Tells them withal 'tis Meritorious too!—
If this thy Practice be, false Rome Fare-well!—
Go, Teach thy Doctrine to the Damn'd in Hell!
Where, by Black Lucifer's Destructive Pride,
Thou may'st in part thy future Fate decide:
Whil'st from our City we thy Imps remove,
To shake their Heels in some cold Field or Grove.
Since both by Ours, and all Mens just Esteem.
They're fitter to Converse with Beasts than Men.

A New Song on the Hellish Popish Plot; Sung by BELZEBUB, at a Merry-meeting of the Devils.

I.
COme Brother Devils, with full Bowls
Let us refresh our thirsty Souls.
If there be joy in Heaven when men repent;
Why should not we
As merry be,
When thousands to our Regions are sent.
II.
And first let's give unto Christ's Vicar
The Supremacy o'th' Liquor.
We'l drink his health, and may his Kingdoms grow;
The farther he
Extends his See,
The larger our Dominions are below.
III.
Of Heaven and Hell Popes have the Keys,
And damn or save whom e'r they please:
'Tis sign they are our friends, if this be true;
They send to th' Skies
Their Enemie,
And let in here only their Popish crue.
IV.
Next to our Friends the Priests of Mass,
A Bumper round about shall pass.
As many Proselyte [...] to Hell they win,
As we trepan
In tempting Man.
By helping to Indulgencies for sin.
V.
Before the day of doom, 'tis said,
We Devils must be bound and laid:
But if the Popish-Priests on earth may dwell,
from tempting wee
May well be free;
They'l do more harm than all the arts of Hell.
VI.
Yet after death these Saints are made,
And Divine honour to them's paid:
To them for help the common people cry,
Oramus vos,
Servate nos,
Whilst in these flames they here tormented lye.
VII.
But since the name of Saints they gain,
Who for their Church have felt the pain
Of transitory earthly fires; then sure
Much more that name
The Priests may claim,
Who for their Church eternal flames endure.
VIII.
Oft have I try'd the British-Land
To re-inslave to Romes command
If in that lesser World I had my hopes
I'd sing Old Rose,
And fuddle my Nose;
The Universe should quickly be the Popes
IX.
Early and late what pains I take
For th' Catholick Religion's sake,
Did they but know, me too they'd Canonize:
My Cloven-foot
And Horns they'd put
Among those Reliques that they highest prize.
X.
First to conspire, Guy Faux I mov'd
Though Fatal to himself it prov'd.
After that upwards to the firmament
It could not rent
The Parliament,
Him downwards to this place the Powder sent.
XI.
And at this time to kill the King,
And Popery again to bring,
Many I've tempted; if i'th' first they fail,
A Counterplot
Still they have got,
I hope their next Attempt may yet prevail
XII.
The French are ready to send o're
Their Armies to the Brittish-shore.
To set fresh forces on the English ground
I have again
Perswaded Spain,
Although in eighty-eight their strength it found.
XIII.
The English Papists too I'le Arm,
And they shall rise at the Allarm:
One blow these forces shall together joyn,
If Charles they kill,
I have my will,
Against the Protestants they shall combine.
XIV.
How do I long to see that day,
When Bibles shall be took away,
And Popish Legends in their places laid;
When the Beads motion
Shall be devotion
And in an unknown tongue Prayers shall be said.
XV.
With joy I think upon the time,
When Whoring shall be thought no crime;
When Monks and Fryers ev'ry place shall store.
When Marriage all
A sin shall call,
And Images for God they shall adore.
XVI.
But by their own Accomplices
I hear that all detected is.
Th' impeached Traitors into Goal are thrown,
Their Arms are found
Hid under ground,
And all their Letters to the King are known.
XVII.
Th' unwelcom news by Staley came,
Who hansel'd Tyburn for the same.
With his own hand, had he been longer lived
In open day
The King to slay,
Raviliae-like, he says he had contrived.
XVIII.
O that these puny Rogues I'd got.
That did relent and spoil the Plot:
If it were possible, more cruelty
I would Invent
Them to torment,
Than e're was exercis'd on Godfery.
XIX.
But since we can't come at these men;
Let's swinge the rest for trusting them.
Each of you take his tort'ring instrument;
With Hangmans Noose
When Life they lose,
On the Conspirators our spleen wee'l vent.
XX.
In the mean while 'tis best I think,
To make an end of all our drink:
That when they're come, and in the height of pain
Their Teeth they gnash,
And Throats would wash,
Nothing to cool their Tongues may here remain.

On the Burning of several Cart-loads of Popish Books, at the Royal Exchange.

WElcome blest day, that happily didst save
Our Church and Nation from a threatned Grave:
A day! must never Marks of Hononr want,
[Page 10]Whilst there survives one grateful Protestant;
But in our Callender shall stand inrol'd
Through every Age, with Characters of Gold.
As once proud Haman, with a curs'd Decree,
Had sign'd God's Peoples general Destinie,
So cruel Factors now of Hell and Rome,
Resovl'd on England's universal Doom:
But Heaven's bright Eye Revea'ld the Hellish Plot,
Which had it prosper'd boldly might have shot
At the Celestial Throne, put out the Sun,
And made the world back to its Chaos run,
Though deep as Hell they laid the black Designe,
Fate blasts their Projects with a Countermine:
And then the desperate Vndertakers be
Like Haman, sentenc'd to the fatal Tree:
Thus Pharaoh perish'd, Israel scap'd free.
And shall such Mercies ever be forgot?
No, no—Were we so thankless, they would not
Permit it; whose new Treasons still we see
Revive their Old ones to our Memorie.
The Cockatrice on the same Eggs doth brood;
Rebellion's Venom is their natural food.
Rome's Founder by a Wolf, ('tis said) was nurs'd,
And with his Brother's blood her walls at first
He cemented: whence ever since we finde
Her Off-spring of a Ravenous, Bloody Kinde.
Long since with temporal arms and flags unfurl [...]d
She Tyranny o're Conquer'd Nations hurl'd
And now with spiritual thraldom grasps the world.
[Page 11]Sooner the Aethiop may blanch his skin,
And Devils cease from tempting men to sin;
Sooner shall darkness dwell in the Suns beams
And Tybur mix with our Thames Purer Streams,
Than the slie Iesuit his old arts will leave,
Or cursed nets of Treasoncease to weave.
But now behold! methinks a gallant Sight.
Doctrines of Darkness yonder brought to Light:
Boone-fires in Earnest! where Rome's Pamphlets fry,
And Popish Authors pass their Purgat'ry.
Unto the Fire their Books most justly came,
Which first were wrote to set us in a Flame.
As in the Air the burning Papers flew,
We might in Emblem that Religion view,
Which makes a while a glorious glittering Blaze,
And with gay Pomp inviteth fools to gaze;
Pretends directly towards heaven to fly
On whings of flaming Love and Charity:
But waite a while, approach a little nigher
Its Glory fades, grows faint, and does Expire.
What at first view appear'd so warm and bright,
Like painted Fires, yields niether Heat, nor Light,
But Grose and Earthly down it comes again,
And with its Blackness, where't doth touch doth stain.
Was it for this the Monk in his dark Cell,
With nitrous Earth, and Brimstone stoln from Hell,
First compos'd Gun-powder, that it might be
The future Engine of their Butchery?
At one sad stroak to Massacre a Land,
And make them fall, whom Heaven ordain'd to stand?
[Page 12]Or could the bold, but silly Traytors hope,
Great Britain e're would Truckle to the Pope?
Erect and Lofty still her Genius stands,
And defies all their Heads, and all their Hands.
Nor shall their Strength or Policy, e're reach
Our ruine, if our Crimes op'e not the Breach:
Still we are safe, till our Transgression merits
The dreadful Reformation from such Spirits.
They dig in vain, nor need our Nation fear
Dark-Lanthorns, whilst God's Candlesticks are here.
" The Purple-Whore may lay her Mantle by,
" Until our Sins are of a Scarlet-dye.
Lord! may they never to that Bulk proceed,
Nor fester so within, that we should need
Italian Horse-leeches to make us bleed.
May Reviv'd London never more become
The Priests Burnt-Offering to Insulting Rome.
With Guarding Mercies still our Soveraign tender,
And be thou His, as He's thy Faiths Defender.

The Catholick Ballad: Or an Invitation to Popery.

To the Tune of 88.
SInce Pop'ry of late is so much in debate,
And great strivings have been to restore it,
I cannot forbear openly to declare,
That the Ballad-makers are for it.
We'l dispute no more then, these Heretical men
Have exposed our Books unto laughter,
[Page 13]So that many do say, 'twill be the best way
To sing for the Cause hereafter.
O the Catholick Cause! now assist me my Muse,
How earnestly do I desire thee!
Neither will I pray to St. Bridget to day,
But only to thee to inspire me.
Whence should Purity come, but from Catholick Rome?
I wonder much at your folly?
For Saint Peter was there, and left an old Chair,
Enough to make all the World holy.
For this Sacred old Wood is so excellent good,
If our Doctors may be believed,
That whoever sits there needs never more fear
The danger of being deceived.
If the Devil himself should (God bless us) get up
Though his Nature we know to be evil,
Yet whilst he sat there, as divers will swear,
He would be an infallible Devil.
Now who sits in this Seat, but our Father the Pope?
Which is a plain demonstration,
As clear as Noon-day, we are in the right way,
And all others are doom'd to damnation.
If this will not suffice, yet to open your eyes,
Which are blinded with bad Education;
We have Arguments plenty, and Miracles twenty,
Enow to convince a whole Nation.
If you give but good heed, you shall see the Host bleed,
Aud if any thing can perswade ye,
An Image shall speak, or at least it shall squeak
In the Honour of our Lady.
[Page 14]You shall see without doubt the Devil cast out,
As of old by Erra Pater;
He shall skip about and tear like a dancing Bear,
When he feels the Holy Water.
If yet doubtful you are, we have Relicks most rare,
We can shew you the Sacred Manger;
Several loads of the Cross as good as ere was
To preserve your Souls from danger.
Should I tell you of all, it would move a stone-wall,
But I spare you a little for pity,
That each one may prepare, and rub up his ear,
For the second part of my Ditty.
Now listen again to those things that remain,
They are matters of weight, I assure you,
And the first thing I say, throw your Bibles away,
'Tis impossible else for to cure you.
O that pestilent Book! never on it more look,
I wish I could sing it out louder:
It has done men more harm, I dare boldly affirm
Than th' Invention of Guns & Powder.
As for matters of Faith, believe what the Church saith,
But for Scripture, leave that to the Learned;
For these are edge-tools, & you Laymen are fools,
If you touch them you are sure to be harmed.
But pray what is it for, that you make all this stir?
You must read, you must hear, and be learned:
If you'l be on our part, we will teach you an Art,
That you need not be so much concerned.
Be the Churches good Son, and your work is half done,
After that you may do your own pleasure:
[Page 15]If your Beads you can tell, and say Ave Mary well,
Never doubt of the Heavenly Treasure.
For the Pope keeps the Keys, and can do what he please,
And without all peradventure,
If you cannot at the fore, yet at the back-door
Of Indulgence you may enter.
But first by the way, you must make a short stay
At a place called Purgatory,
Which the Learned us tell, in the buildings of Hell,
Is about the middlemost story.
'Tis a monstrous hot place, and a mark of disgrace,
In the torment on't long to endure:
None are kept there but Fools & poor pitiful Souls,
Who can no ready money procure.
For a handsom round Sum you may quickly be gon,
For the Church has wisely ordaind,
That they who build Crosses and pay well for Masses,
Should not there be too long detaind.
So that's a plain case, as the Nose on ones Face,
We are in the surest condition,
And none but poor Fools and some niggardly Owls,
Need fall into utter perdition.
What aileth you then, O ye great and rich men,
That you will not hearken to reason,
Since as long as y' have Pence, y' need scruple no offence,
Be it Murther, Adultery, Treason.
And ye sweet-natur'd Women, who hold all things common,
My addresses to you are most hearty,
And to give you your due, you are to us most true,
And we hope we shall gain the whole party.
[Page 16]If you happen to fall, your Penance is small,
And although you cannot forgo it,
We have for you a cure, if of this you be sure
To confess before you go to it.
There is one reason yet, which I cannot omit,
To those who affect the French Nation,
Hereby we advance the Religion of France,
The Religion that's only in fashion.
If these rea [...]ons prevail, (as how can they fail?)
To have Popery entertain'd,
You cannot conceive, and will hardly believe,
What benefits hence may be gain'd.
For the Pope shall us bless (that's no small happiness)
And again we shall see restored
The Italian Trade, which formerly made
This Land to be so much adored.
O the Pictures and Rings, the Beads & fine things,
The good words as sweet as Honey,
All this and much more shall be brought to our door,
For a little dull English-money.
Then shall Justice and Love, & whatever can move
Be restored again to our Britain.
And Learning so common, that every old woman
Shall say her Prayers in Latin.
Then the Church shall bear sway, & the State shall obey,
Which is now lookt upon as a wonder,
And the proudest of Kings, with all temporal things
Shall submit and truckle under.
And the Parliament too, who have tak'n us to do
And have handled us with so much terror,
[Page 17]May chance on that score ('tis no time to say more)
They may chance to acknowledge their error.
If any man yet shall have so little Wit
As still to be refractory,
I swear by the Mass, he is a meer Ass,
And so there's an end of a Story.

A Continuation of the Catholick Ballad inviting to Popery; Vpon the best Grounds and Rea­sons, that could ever yet be produced. To an excellent Tune, called, The Powder-plot.

FRom Infallible Rome, once more I am come,
With a Budget of Catholick Ware,
Shall dazle your Eyes, and your Fancies surprize,
To embrace a Religion so rare.
Oh! the Love and good Will, of his Holiness still,
What will he not do for to save ye:
If such Pains and such Art, cannot you Convert,
'Tis pity but Old Nick should have ye.
Now our Priests are run down, and our Iesuits aground
And their Arguments all prove invalid:
See here he hath got, an unheard of New-plot,
To Proselite you with a Ballad.
Then lay by your Jeers, and prick up your Ears,
Whilst I unto you do display,
The advantage and worth, the Truth and so forth
Of the Roman Catholick way.
[Page 18]If you did but behold the Faith and the Gold,
Of which Holy Church is possest;
You would never more stray, in the Heretical way,
But flie to her Lap to be blest.
The Pope is the Head, and doth Peter succeed,
(Pray come away faster and faster)
He succeeds him 'tis true, but would you know how,
Tis only in denying his Master.
He's Infallible too, what need more ado,
And ever hath Truth in possession:
For though once Mob Ioan, Ascended the Throne,
The same was no breach of Succession.
Our Church and no other, is the Reverend Mother
Of Christians throughout the whole Earth;
Though Older they be, perhaps far than she,
Yet they must owe unto Her their Birth.
Our Faith is so great, so sound and compleat,
It scorneth both Scripture and Reason;
And builds on Tradition, sometimes Superstition,
And oft-times Rebellion and Treason.
Our strict Purity, is plain to each eye,
That Catholick Countries view;
For there to suppress, the sins of the Flesh,
Sodomy is in use; and the Stews.
Our Zeal has been felt, whereever we dwelt,
On all that our Doctrine deny:
If we have a Suspicion, we make Inquisition,
And straight the poor Hereticks fry.
In vain they may plead, or their Scriptures read,
We value them all not a Pin:
[Page 19]The best Argument, that we can invent,
Is with Fire and Sword to begin.
A most Godly way, whatever they say,
Since it their Salvation o [...]tains,
Makes them Orthodox, with blows and with knocks,
And hammers Faith into their Brains.
A God we can make, of a thin Wafer-Cake,
And eat him up when we have done:
But a Drop of the Cup, Lay-men must not sup,
For the Priest guzles that all alone.
We have terrible Bulls, and Pardons for Gulls,
Holy Water to Scar-crow the Devil;
With Consecrate Swords, take them on our words,
They shall make the Great Turk be civil.
We have Saints great store, and Miracles more,
With Martyrs a great many from Tyburn;
Pretty Nuns that dwell, mewd up in a Cell,
As chast as Night-walkers of Holbourn.
We have Holy Blood, we have Holy Wood,
A Ship-load, or some such matter:
We have Holy Bones, and some Holy Stones,
Would make an old Ladies Chops water.
We have Holy Men, seen but now and then,
Monks, Abbots, and Capuchin Friars,
With Merits so great, they can buy one a Seat
In Heaven, or else they are Liars.
Then all you that would sure Salvation procure,
And yet still live as you list;
Do but mutter and pray, and say as we say,
And your Catholicks good as e're P—.
[Page 20]We are brisk and free, and always agree,
Allowing our selves to be jolly;
And the Puritan Tricks, of dull Hereticks.
We count but Fanatical Folly.
Swearing and Whoring, Drinking and Roaring,
All those are but Venial Transgressions:
The Murthering of Kings, and such petty things,
Are easily Absolv'd in Confession.
A little short Penance, doth wipe away Sin,
And there's an end of all trouble;
Which having dispatcht, you may fall to't agen,
And safely your Wickedness double.
Bring a good round Sum, Sins past and to come,
Shall presently be forgiven;
But this you must know, before you do go,
The Excize runs high upon Heaven.
For we have the Price, of every Vice,
Assest at a certain Rate;
So near at a word, we do them afford,
Not a Penny thereof we can bate.
But if you're content, a while to be pent,
And in Purgatory purged;
A smaller Spell, shall preserve you from Hell,
And keep you from being scourged.
Though you have liv'd a Devil, in all kind of Evil
Bequeath but a Monastery,
And Angels your Soul, without Controul,
To Abraham's Bosom shall Carry.
Nor need you to fear, who have bought Lands dear
That were Holy Churches before;
[Page 21]We'l lend them for life, but for your Souls health
At your Death you must them restore.
Thus Popery, you see, will kindly agree,
If you will it but embrace.
But if you delay, there's somany i'th way,
That you will hardly get a good place.
The Critical Time, is now in the prime,
See how Holy Mother does smile,
And spreading her Arms, to preserve you from harms,
So gladly would you Reconcile.
To which purpose behold, do but tell out your Gold,
And all things in readiness be;
For the next Year, His Holiness (we hear)
Doth intend a Jubilee.
You that Pardons would have, or Indulgence crave,
To ROME, to ROME be trudging,
And do not contemn, good Advice from a Friend,
Nor take his Ballad in dudgeon.

On ROME's Pardons, By the E. of R.

IF Rome can Pardon Sins, as Romans hold,
And if those Pardons can be bought and sold,
It were no Sin, to adore and worship Gold.
If they can purchase Pardons with a Sum,
For Sins they may commit in time to come,
And for Sins past; 'tis very well for Rome.
[Page 22]At this rate, they are happiest that have most,
They'l purchase Heaven at their own proper cost:
Alas, the Poor! all that are so, are lost.
Whence came this Knack, or when did it begin?
What Author have they, or who brought it in?
Did Christ e're keep a Custom-House for Sin?
Some subtile Devil, without more ado,
Did certainly this sly Invention brew,
To gull'em of their Souls and Mony too.

Written by Stephen Colledge, the day be­fore he dyed.

Wrongful Imprisonment
Hurts not the Innocent.
WHat if I am into a Prison cast,
By Hellish Combinations am betray'd,
My Soul is free, although my Body's fast:
Let them Repent that have this Evil laid,
And of Eternal Vengeance be afraid;
Come Racks and Gibbets, can my Body kill,
My God is with me, and I fear no Ill.
What boots the Clamours of the Giddy Throng?
What Antidotes against a poysonous Breath?
What Fence is there against a lying Tongue,
Sharpen'd by Hell, to wound a Man to Death?
Snakes, Vipers, Adders do lurk underneath:
[Page 23]Say what you will, or never speak at all,
Our very Prayers (such Wretches) Treason call.
But Walls and Bars, cannot a Prison make,
The free-born Soul enjoyes it's Liberty;
These Clods of Earth it may incaptivate,
Whilst Heavenly Minds are conversant on high,
Ranging the Fields of Blest Eternity:
So let this Bird sing sweetly in my Breast,
My Conscience clear; a Rush for all the rest.
What I have done, I did with good Intent,
To serve my King, my Country, and the Laws,
Against the Bloody Papists I was bent,
Cost what it will, I'le ne're repent my Cause:
Nor do I fear their Hell-devouring Jawes.
A Protestant I am, and such I'le die,
Maugre all Death, and Popish Cruelty.
But what need I these Protestations make,
Actions speak Men far better than their Words:
What e're I suffer for my Country's sake,
Not Cause I had a Gun, or Horse, or Sword,
Or that my Heart did Treason e're afford:
No, 'tis not me (alone) they do intend,
But Thousands more, to gain their cursed Ends.
And sure (of this) the World's so well aware
That here it's needless more for me to say,
I must conclude; no time have I to spare,
My winged hours fly too fast away,
My work (Repentance) must I not delay.
I'le add my Prayers to God, for Englands good,
And if he please, will seal them with my Blood.
[Page 24]O blessed God! destroy this black Design
Of Popish Consults; it's in thee we trust,
Our Eyes are on thee, help, O Lord! in time,
Thou God of Truth, most merciful and just,
Do thou defend us, or we perish must:
Save England Lord, from Popish Cruelty,
My Country bless, thy will be done on me.
Man's Life's a Voyage, through a Sea of Tears,
If he would gain the Heaven of his Rest,
His Sighs must fill the Sails (whilst some men steers)
When storms arise, let each Man do his best,
And cast the Anchor of his hopes (opprest)
Till Time, or Death, shall bring us to that Shore,
Where Time nor Death, shall never be no more.
Laus Deo: S. C.
From my Prison in the Tow­er, Aug. 15. 1681.

Amen.

LONDON's Fatal Fall: Being an ACRO­STICK, &c. Written (as a Second Poeti­cal Diversion) the 8 th. of September, 1666.

L o! now confused Heaps only stand
O n what did bear the Glory of the Land.
N o Stately Places, no Edefices,
D o now appear: No, here's now none of these,
O h Cruel Fates! Can ye be so unkind?
N ot to leave, scarce a Mansion behind.
L et England then lament, and let her keep
A dismal day, let every Soul to weep
T o wash away those Sins, that thus provoke
E ternal Heavens all-consuming stroke.
L et Penitential Tears quench out the Fire
Y et reigning in our Lusts, let that expire.
E lse we can have no blessed Confiden [...]e,
N or hopes in Heavens merciful Defence.
G race is the best inducement too to move
L ove from the God of Mercies, God of Love.
A sighing Heart becomes this Tragedy,
N ero's may laugh at it, so must not we.
D on't soon forget this greatest Accident,
S ince Iulius Caesar enter'd into Kent.
G reatest of Men or Cities, now ye see
L ay subject unto Heavens just Decree.
O let us then be careful to prevent
R eligiously, such future punishment.
Y esterday though not thought of, yet ye see
N othing to day but sad extremity:
O bdurate Hearts might melt to see a flame,
W hich made e'en Bells themselves to do the same.
B arbarians may weep to see a City
E steem'd so much, destroy'd, (Ah pitty! pitty!)
C onduits not now, but Gutters, ran with Wine.
O ils also did unto the like combine.
M ortality ne'er Men so fast did mow,
[Page 26] A s the consuming Flames did Housen now.
T roy's Flames were fatal, What did those begin?
R ape was the cause of that, and that was Sin.
A nd we have Hellen's too too many, that
G od knows, our guilt (I fear) do aggravate.
I ncontinency's (in our sinful time)
C all'd by fond Man, a Failing, not a Crime;
K nowledge by Will is so disfigured,
S atan now as a Saint is worshipped.
T hen this it is, (We cannot but confess)
O btrudeth Judgments on our happiness.
R epent then, God will (if we Sinno more)
Y ield us more Blessings unto those before.

A QVADRVPLE ACROSTICK on LONDON.

L-o! what a Chaos this unhappy Fal—L,
O-nly a dismal sight, and signs of W— O,
N-ow Metamorphis'd, Ovid writeth o— N▪
D-emocritus had wept too (doubtless) ha— D
O-nly Melpomene's the Singer wh— O
N-ow each, a Stoick look too putteth o— N.
[Page 27] L-ends us instead of Englands Capital—L.
O-ffers our Opticks objects, Things are s— O
N-o such, not to, but from, Confusio— N.
D-estiny rais'd an Object then so sa— D.
O-rders my Muse, and best becomes it to— O.
N-othing but Clouds appear, the Sun is go— N.

LONDON Anagram, NOLO. DOLO.

The EXPLICATION.
THough Now I am unwilling, wOes attend
Me, so I grieve by fOrce, Let Heaven send
Such Detriment no more, for nOw I find,
Grief wilL alONe DepOse the Noblest mind,
Thus this will highest Spirits subjugate,
They must (though most unwilling) yield to Fate.
LONDON's Epitaph.
HEre lies the Flower (as you may understand)
Not of a Family, but of a Land;
A beauteous LADY, Nations did her court,
And all the World unto her did resort:
[Page 28]She had a vast Estate (as may appear)
And many Sisters, but made none her Heir;
No, She (that they the more might sadly mourn)
Has all, consumed with her in her URN.
But from those Ashes all her Sisters crys
Are, that another PHAENIX yet may rise;
And all hopes are, Heaven yet will send
Unto'em such another in the End.

Vpon the Fifth of November.

HAil happy Hour, wherein that Hellish Plot
Was found, which, had it prosper'd, might have shot
At the Celestial Throne; at whose dread stroke
Atlas had reel'd, and both the Poles had shoke:
And Tellus (sympathizing in the woe)
Had felt an Ague and a Feaver too:
Hell-Gates had been set ope, to make men say,
Saint Peter's Vicar hath mistook his Key.
Methinks I see a dismal gloomy Cell,
The Lobby-Porch and Wicket unto Hell,
The Devil's Shop, where great had been his Prize,
Had he prevail'd to make his Wares to rise.
Say, gentle Drawer, were they Casks of Beer?
Or was old Bacchus tunn'd and firkin'd there?
Nay, then the Pope's turn'd Vintner: Friends, behold
What mortal Liquor's at the Mitre sold!
[Page 29]Fire-spewing Aetna with good Cause may fear
That her Distemper springs from too much Beer:
And old Enceladus may well confess
That all his Belching's caus'd by Drunkenness.
Had wretched Dives begg'd a Drop of this,
To allay his heat, the Fool had ask'd amiss:
His hapless Rhet'rick might have done him wrong,
'Twould have tormented, not have could his tongue.
Had Heber's Wife but known this Trick of thine,
She'd spar'd her Milk, & given the Captain Wine.
Strange, sure, had been th' Effects; it would have sped
Our lawful King, and left the Pope instead.
Right Drunkenness indeed, which, for a space,
Steals Man away, and leaves a Beast in's place.
'T had caus'd a general intoxication.
The stag'ring, nay, the Downfal of the Nation.
Oh murth'rous Plot! Posterity shall say,
His Holiness o're-shoots Caligula.
The Pope by this and such Designs ('tis plain)
Out- Babels Nimrod, and Out-butchers Cain.
About this time the brave Mounteagle, whose
Firm Love to his Religion rather chose
To break the Roman Yoke, than see the Reign
Of deceas'd Mary, wheel about again,
Receiv'd a Letter in a dubious sense,
It seem'd a piece of Stygian Eloquence:
The Characters look'd just like conj'ring Spells;
For this bout Hell here spoke in Parables.
The Pope's and Devil's Signets were set to't,
Th Clo [...]en Mitre and the Clo [...]en Foot.
[Page 30]But shall our State by an unlook'd-for Blow
Receive a mortal Wound, and yet not know
The hand that smote her? shall she sigh and cry,
Like Polyphemus, Out is quench'd mine Eye?
Is England by the angry Fates sad Doom
Condemn'd to play at Hot-cockles with Rome?
No, Man of Myst'ries, no, we understand
Thy Gibb'rish, though thou art confounded, and
Have found thy meaning; Heav'n can read thy hand.
Thus were our Senate like to be betraid
By a strange Egg which Peter's Cock had laid:
For had the servant hatch'd it, the Device
Had prov'd to us a baneful Cockatrice.
Now like proud H [...]man being stretch'd upon
The heightned Pegs of vain Ambition,
Above Pride's highest Ela, how he took
Poor Mordechai's advancement, and could brook
Hanging, instead of Honouring; that Curse
Which made him set the Cart before the Horse:
Just such was Faux, his baffled hopes bequeath
No comforts now, but thoughts of suddain Death.
Like Haman's fate, he only could aspire
To be advanced fifty Cubits higher.
What Phoebus said to th' Laurel, that sure he
Said to the Gallows, Thou shalt be my Tree.
But didst thou think, thou mitred Man of Rome,
Who bellowest threatnings and thy dreadful Doom,
And like Perillus roarest in thy Bull
Curses and Blasphemies a Nation full,
[Page 31]At one sad stroke to Massacree a Land,
And make them fall, whom Heaven ordain'd to stand.
No, though thy head was fire and thou could turn
Thy Ten Branch'd Antler to a Powder-horn;
Still we are safe, till our transgressions merit
A Reformation from such a Spirit
As comes from thence: our Nation need not fear
Dark Lanterns, whilst God's Candlestick is here.
The Purple Whore may lay her Mantle by,
Until our Sins are of a Scarlet-dye.
Those Horns alone can sound our overthrow,
And blow us up, which blew down Iericho,
Christ bless this Kingdom from intestine quarrels;
From Schism in Tubs, and Popery in Barrels.

The DEVIL pursued: Or, The right Saddle laid upon the right Mare. A SATYR upon Madam CELLIERS standing in the Pillory, By a Person of Quality.

ALas! What has this poor Animal done,
That she stands thus before the rising Sun,
In all the heats of Infamy and Disgrace,
The sure Remarks of a bold Brazen-face?
Truly for no great hurt, nor for much harm;
Only inventing to spill Royal Blood, to keep it warm;
[Page 32]Fire Cities, Burn Houses, and Devast Nations;
Ruine us in all our several Stations.
But who would think it from the Woman fine,
A thing whom Nature it self hath made Divine,
That she should act such horrid barbarous things,
As to design to stab Statesmen, and to Murder Kings?
But here she still appears for her ill acts,
Like second storms after Thunder-claps.
Philosophers tell us, The best things corrupted are the worst,
And from their own fine species are ever curst.
When once we take to Ill and Vices Road,
We then paint our selves much like the Toad;
Since Vice not only horrid is from the being of Nature,
But also from the thing it self, and from its own feature.
Who makes us look at once, and that several ways,
Like squinting people, from their false Optick Rays.
This teaches us therefore how a strange a thing is Religion,
That makes one a Vulture, the other a Raven, and the other a Widgeon;
To be so very false, in the instructing those
To commit such horrid acts, and with them close:
As what is opened and presented here,
By a Popish Midwife, called Madam Cellier.
Go to therefore, all ye Papists and Men of the Red Letter,
Would you but seriously consider of it, yon would do much better
Than Plot such secret Villanies against the State,
The direful operations of your ungodly hate.

On the Murther of Sir EDMOND­BURY GODFREY of WEST­MINSTER: An hasty POEM.

O Murder! Murder! let this Shreik fly round,
Till Hills and Dales, and Rocks and Shores re­bound;
Send it to Heav'n and Hell; for both will be
Astonish'd and Concern'd as much as we.
First send to Endor where of old did dwell
An Hag, could Fates of Kings and Kingdoms tell;
If that cannot be found, to Ekron go,
To Pluto's Oracle and Hell below.
There serve this Hue and Cry, for there 'twas hatch'd,
(Except the Priests their Gods have over-match'd.)
Methinks Belzebub, if he be out-done
In his Grand Misteries; and Rome needs none
Of his Black Arts, but can Out-Devil Hell,
His Envy and Revenge this Plot should tell:
And by disclosing in his own defence,
Not only vindicate his Innocence,
But hasten their destruction, and prevent.
Loss of his Trade, (the Jesuits intent)
[Page 34]Unless he fears them, as indeed he may;
When once in Hell, none shall Command but they.
But if this Tragedy be all his own,
And Roman Actors (taught by him) have shown
How they can play all parts he can devise;
Female or Male, with or without disguise:
And need no Cacodoemons prompting Art
Or Whisper, but can fill up any part;
Fast, Pray and Weep, Swear and Forswear, Decoy,
Trapan, Kiss, Flatter, Smile, and so Destroy,
Stab, Pistol, Poyson Kings, un-King, de-Throne,
Blow up or down, Save, Damn, make all their own.
Knows not he then, tho' Founder of the Stage,
The Laws of Theatres in every Age.
That th' Actors, not the Author of the Play,
Do challenge the Rewards of the first day.
Make then their names renown'd, and come to hide
Such Children of thy Revels and thy Pride;
Send to their Father, and thy eldest Son
That Lucifer of Rome, what feats they've done:
That he may make their names be understood,
Written in Kalenders of Martyrs Blood.
But if the Fiends below be Deaf and Dumb,
And this Conjuring cannot overcome;
They and their Imps be damn'd together: I
To Gods on Earth will send my Hue and Cry.
Arise Just Charles, Three Kingdoms Soul and mine,
Great Iames thy Grandfather could well divine;
And without Spell the bloody Riddle Spell,
Writ by like S [...]etaries of Rome and Hell.
[Page 35]And if Thy Proclamation cannot do,
We pray Gods Spirit may inspire Thee too.
If Thy Prophetick Vsher did not err,
The Mass would enter by a Massacre.
The Wounds Thy Godfrey found were meant for Thee,
And Thou ly'st Murder'd in Effigie.
In Gods Kings Kingdoms Cause this Knight was slain,
Let him a Noble Monument obtain;
Erected in your Westminsters great Hall,
That Courts of Justice may lament his Fall:
And may (when any Papist cometh near)
His Marble Statue yield a bloody tear.
Yet let him not be buried, let him lie,
The fairest Image to draw Justice by.
There needs no Balm or Spices to preserve
The Corps from Stench, his Innocence will serve.
Ye Lords and Commons joyn your speedy Votes,
A Pack of Blood-Hounds threaten all your Throats.
And if their Treason be not understood,
Expect to be Dissolv'd in your own Blood.
O Vote that every Papist (high and low)
To Martyr'd Godfry's Corps in person go;
And laying hand upon his wounded Brest,
By Oath and Curse his ignorance protest.
But Oh the Atheism of that Monstrous Crew,
Whose Holy Father can all Bonds undo:
Whose Breath can put away the heavi'st Oath;
Who fears no Heaven nor Hell, but laughs at both
Therefore a safer Vote my Muse suggests,
For Priests and Iesuits can swallow Tests
[Page 36]As Hocus Pocus doth his Rope or Knife,
And cheats the gaping Farmer and his Wife.
Oh Vote each Sign-post shall a Gibbet be,
And hang a Traytor upon every Tree.
Yet we'l find Wood enough for Bone-fire-piles,
T' inlighten and inflame our Brittish Isles
Upon the approaching Fifth November night,
And make Incendiaries curse the light.
November Fires Septembers may reveal,
One Burn (we say) another Burn will heal.
Lastly, And surely, let this Hue and Cry
Reach Heaven, where every Star looks like an Eye
To that High Court of Parliament above,
Whose Laws are mixt with Justice and with Love;
Whither Just Godfry's Souls already come,
And hath receiv'd the Crown of Martyrdom;
Where Murder'd Kings and slaughter'd Saints do cry,
Their Blood may never unrevenged lie.
Ye Saints and Angels hate that Scarlet Whore,
Whose Priests and Brats before your Shrines adore,
And in their Massacres your Aid implore:
Staining your Altars with the precious Gore:
Pour down your Vials on their Cursed heads,
And in Eternal flames prepare their Beds.
And Thou Judge Jesus Hang'd and Murder'd too,
By Power of Rome and Malice of the Iew,
In Godfry's Wounds Thine own to bleed anew.
Oh Rend Thy Heavens! Come Lord and take Thy Throne,
Revenge Thy Martyrs and Thine own.

The Loyal Protestants New LITANY.

FRom the Romish Whore with her Triple Crown,
Fom the Plot she hath hatch'd, and her Babes now disown,
Though they dy'd with a Lie in their Mouth is well known.
Libra nos Domine.
From such as presume to speak ill of Queen Bess,
From a Popish Midwife in a Sanctified Dress,
Adorn'd with a Wooden Ruff for a Crest.
Libra nos, &c.
From Iudas the Purse-bearers Protestant face,
From any more of his Machiavel race,
That henceforth may ever succeed in his place.
Libra nos, &c.
From a Doctor that durst prepare such a Dose
That would take a Protestant Prince by the Nose,
(Although it be spoken under the Rose.)
Libra nos, &c.
From a Papist that Curses the Catholick Whore,
Although in his Heart he the same do adore,
And still his contriving more Plots than before.
Libra nos, &c.
From a Jesuit drest up in Masquerade,
That understands his Blood-thirsty Trade,
That can neither by Justice or Mercy be laid.
Libra nos, &c.
From Bum [...]kin and Citt that at random do range;
And for a Sham-Plot do true honesty change,
Though come off by the LEE, methinks it is STRANGE.
Libra nos, &c.
From such a hard Fortune as barely to write
But only for Bred from Morning till Night;
That would more than a Crack-farts Courage affright.
Libra nos, &c.
From those that Sedition do dayly invent
To render a breach and gross discontent
Betwixt our Great King and Loyal Parliament.
Libra nos, &c.
From such as do dayly possess us with fears,
And yet at the same do prick up their ears,
Which care not which Course our Council now steers.
Libra nos, &c.
That the Rhomish Whore may be stript of her dress,
And cast in the Pit that is call'd Bottomless;
That her Plots, Loyal Subjects no more distress.
Quesimus te Domine.
That Queen Besses Enemies run the same Fate
As lately they did in the last Eighty Eight,
May never one want to peep through a Grate.
Quesimus, &c.
That the Purse-bearer Iudas his Protestant face
May never resume his former high place,
Except for to fall in Eternal Disgrace.
Quesimus, &c.
That the Doctor beyond Sea in spight of his skill,
May never return, but keep close there still;
Or else may he die by his own Poysonous Pill.
Quesimus, &c.
That Popish Curr in honest disguise,
That Curses us all before he do rise,
May his Plots be confounded though never so wise.
Quesimus, &c.
That such whose hands are still dipt in Blood,
And intend to make second Noah's Flood,
That all such may perish, and all of their Brood.
Quesimus, &c.
That such as do render the Plot for a Fable,
And make it the talk of each Coffee-house Table;
To enter Heaven Gates may they never be able.
Quesimus, &c.
That such as are forced to write but for bread,
May be by the dayly Providence fed,
Much rather than those who will Plot till they're dead.
Quesimus, &c.
That Seditious Spirits may now be supprest,
And that in true earnest, not only in Jest,
That such may never more feather their Nest.
Quesimus, &c.
That those who do dayly possess us with fears,
May fall themselves together by th' Ears;
And quit us all from that Cloud which appears.
Quesimus te Domine.

The JESUIT Ierk'd: A SATYR.

AScend, Alecto, from thy Den, and come
Just as thou look'st in that Infernal Home,
Hell, Fury, Fire, my Fancy, for I have
More Cause than Poet e're had yet, to Rave:
Thou art my Muse, thy Snakes my Lawrels are,
Inspir'd by thee, I'll Rome's Intrigues declare:
Then to thy intermitted Task retire,
And pay the Iesuits their Arrears of Fire.
A Iesunt old Satan's Envoy is,
Sent to succeed the Snake of Paradice;
For when the fatal stroke of Adam's Loss,
Was healed by the Great Theanthropos,
And that first Argument of Hellish Power,
Was quite Confuted by a Saviour:
Then baffled Lucifer no answer had,
Till he a Iesuit his Rejoynder made,
By whom he hopes compleatly to renew
The Battel, and once more Mankind undo;
Plotting his Old Dominion to make good
By false Implicit Faith, or Fire and Blood:
That catches Fools, and These destroy the Wise,
Thus all Mankind are equally his Prize.
" Shut your Eyes close, believe me, and you'l see,
" Th' Ignatian crys the way t' Eternity:
" Deny all Reason, misbelieve your Sense,
" Church cannot erre, be that your Confidence:
[Page 41]" Pin on your Sleeve your Faith, and tho' you'r blind,
" Take but fast hold, and follow us behind;
" Our open Eyes the way for both will find.
This Wine and Wafer now are common Food,
But a few words shall make e'm Flesh and Blood;
And though they still the self same things appear,
Yet is Christ's very Blood and Body here:
Such plain Impostures, such bold Cheats as these,
Can surely none but Fools or Madmen please.
The Snake of Paradice play'd fairer far
With Adam's Wife, and more upon the square;
He call'd an Apple, Apple, bid her see
How fair the Fruit, desireable the Tree:
The Iesuit's tricks would ne're have ta'ne with Eve,
She saw and felt before she did believe:
Besides he told her that 'twould make her wise,
But these the gros [...]est ignorance advise.
And thus we lose our selves b' a greater cheat,
Than what the Devil us'd in Eve's Defeat:
Thus we our Sense and Reason lay aside,
To take an Old Ambitious Pope for Guide.
Thus we turn Stocks and Ideots, and then
Become good Cath'licks, ceasing to be Men;
As if the only way to save our Souls,
Were to be easie Slaves, or senseless Fools.
To all this fond Credulity we're hurld,
By slavish fears about a burning World;
So (to be sure) to feel no torment there,
First strip our selves of all our senses here▪
[Page 42]Now my Alecto, let's advance and view
The frauds that lurk under Religious shew;
For though to Heaven their fair pretences swell,
The root lies deep and dark, as is thy Cell:
No Heathen Law-giver, no Pagan Priest,
Could e're with such mysterious Wiles infest
The superstitious Multitude, for they
Are still most apt to fear they know not why;
No Cabalist of State could e're trapan
With such firm subtilety as Rome's Divan.
And First, lest Holy Church should chance to float
Without a last Appeal in endless doubt;
You must with dumb Obedience still repair
Unto Rome's Holy Apostolick Chair,
That, that's Infallible and cannot erre.
This bold Assumption keeps more in awe,
Than Numa with his feig [...]'d Egeria;
For though it seems at point of Faith to aim,
'Tis to be uncontroulibly Supream,
Get universal Def'rence, and Create
A close dependance on the Roman Seat:
Branding on all damnable Heresie,
That dare oppose the Apostolick See,
Or Rome's Political Divinity.
Rome's Doctrine is a secular Device,
Mere trick of State in rev'rend Disguise,
Th' Ambitious Spawn of latter Centuries.
And tho' it proudly boast an ancient Line
From Peter, 'tis of basest Origine;
[Page 43]A Priestly Brat, by them Ingendred on
Ignorance, Fear, and Superstition;
These three compleatly make the Triple Crown,
And still support Old Rome's Imperial Throne.
How slily do the Priests by help of these
Make Men believe, and then do what they please;
How solemnly they dazle vulgar Eyes
With fine mysteriovs Holy Vanities:
Whose Ceremonious Pomp strikes awful dread
In Fools that by their Eyes and Ears are led:
But should I here endeavour to declare
The num'rous Gimcracks of the Romish Fair,
Their mystick Idols, consecrated Bawbles,
Feign'd Miracles, and monstrous Holy Fables;
How dead Saints Relicks cure the Gout and Ptisick,
And are like Aegypts Mummy, us'd for Physick▪
How they can scare the Devil with a stench,
As young Tobias did to get the Wench.
In telling this I might as tedious be,
As the return of their next Jubilee;
But these are petty Trifles, petty Toys,
Tricks to catch Women, gaping Fools, and Boies;
They have devices of a larger Size,
Traps to ensnare the Wary and the Wise.
And if you chance to boggle at the Bait,
They curse, and cry Damnation be your Fate,
And then you swallow it at any rate.
Oh! what a melancholly dismal Story
They roar in dying Ears of Purgatory;
[Page 44]That rather than the affrighted Wretch will bu [...]
So long, he'll all his Gold to Masses turn.
Thus Ecclesiastick Chymists (you'd admire)
Make real Gold by a fictitious Fire.
Next extream Unction comes from whence the Prie [...]
Gets the most good by greasing in the Fist;
But of all cheats that necessary are
Unto Salvation, Aur [...]cular
Confession bears the Bell, and seems to me
Next to Infallible Supremacy.
It wears a Holy Vail, but underneath
Is Shame and Slavery far worse than Death:
The Priest may tyrannize without Controul,
That knows the guilty secret of the Soul.
So when the Gentle Sex Confession makes
That they have often sinn'd upon their Backs,
How easily the Priest comes in for snacks,
And shrieves the pretty Pen'tent Alamode,
No trick like a Iure Divino Fraud.
Thus are their chiefest Doctrines plain Device,
Pimp to their Pride, their Lust and Avarice?
In Holy Apostolical Disguise.
In short, the whole mysterious Cheat doth lye,
In Superstition and Idolatry,
Two Spurious Graffs
Set in the Tree of Life, Religion,
By whose luxurious Branches 'tis o'regrown
To such a monstrous Disproportion;
That first the Planters would it quite disown.
[Page 45]Religion like a modest Rural Maid,
No artificial Dress, no Fucus had,
But was in Native Innocency clad.
Till in Rome's Court she ceased to be such,
Thence sprang her Infamy and first Debauch;
There laying plain simplicity aside,
She grew to lazie Wantonness and Pride:
Yet still some modesty confin'd her home,
Nor rambled she beyond the Walls of Rome;
Till proud of her successful Charms, she grew
Ambitious greatest Monarchs to subdue▪
So by deceitful Arts sh' enlarg'd her Power,
And made them Slaves that she had serv'd before▪
Then wisely some the Vassalage forsook,
Others repin'd, as weary of the Yoke;
She jealous lest her Universal Sway
Should lessen, and her former Fa [...]e decay;
Mongst others, did the Schoolmens Pen employ
To vindicate her Truth and Honesty,
(Schoolmen who ransack Sciences and Arts,
To prove with pains that they are Fools of parts)
So these her Honour justify'd in Words,
As Bully Iesuits Plot to do with Swords;
But both in vain, for 'tis concluded on,
Their Mistress is the Whore of Babylon.
Shift, shift the Scene, Alecto, Fury, Fiend,
Wake all thy Snakes and make this Tragick End;
By Hellish Art raise up in dark Cabal,
The Pope, a Iesuit, and Cardinal:
[Page 46]Thy self place in the middle raving Wood,
With Poysons, Pistols, Daggers, Fire and Blood.
Now let this Scene start into sudden sight,
By gloomy Flashes of sulphureous Light;
There let his Holiness's Face appear,
Full of deep Counsel, weighty thought, and care,
Whilst each of you in awful silence hears
The sacred Oracle with humble Ears.
Was it for this my ample Power was giv'n,
For this have I the Keys of Hell and Heaven?
In Vain I boast of a Supremacy,
And call my Chair the Universal See:
A little Nest of Hereticks cut off
From Europe's Earth, at all my power doth laug [...]
Who though they kindly could decline to be
A Bar to ballance Gallick Tyranny,
Yet still oppose my Holy Monarchy.
False Agents Heartless Traytors, have you
So often swore by Sacramental Vow,
Or to Convert this Island, or undo?
Was your Commission scant, did I deny
Plenipotentiary Villany?
Have not I null'd Divine and Humane Laws,
That without Let, you might promote the Cau [...]
Heaven's Laws, though fix'd by an Eternal Seal,
Stoop and are liable to my Repeal.
Moses once broke these Tables, often I,
Not to prevent, but fix Idolatry.
Thus had your large Commission no restraint,
Nor did you Apostolick Blessing want;
[Page 47]Nay more the blackest Crimes in you were Merit,
For which all others endless Flames in herit:
So Treasons, Murders, Perjuries, became
Sure Monuments of your Eternal Fame;
So Nature's Course was chang'd, yet nothing's done
T' Advance the Catholick Religion.
Be gone, Slave, fly, Delude with crafty Words,
If they prove vain, use Poyson, Fire, and Swords;
Make better work on't, or I swear by th' Mass,
And the Divinity of Holy Cross—
These chance unlucky Words broke all the Spell,
They vanisht, and Alecto sunk to Hell.

On the Murther of Sir EDMONDBURY GOD FREY.

ARe these the Popes Grand Tools?
Worshipful Noddies! Who but blund'ring Fools
Would ever have forgot
To Burn those Letters that reveal'd their Plot?
Or in an Ale-house told that Godfrey's Dead,
Three Days before he was Discovered;
Leaving the silly World to call to mind
That Common Logick, They that hide can find?
But see their Master Pollicy on Primrose Hill,
Where their great Enemy
Like Saul upon Mount Gilboa doth lye,
Fal'n on his Sword, as if he himself did Kill.
[Page 48]But oh, the Infelicity!
That Blood was fresh, and gusht out of the wound,
This so congeal'd that not one spot was found:
No, not upon his Sword, as if it wou'd
Tell us 'twas guiltless of its Masters Blood;
Some Carkasses by bleeding do declare,
This by not bleeding, shews the Murtherer.
But to its broken Neck I pray
What can our Polititians say?
He Hang'd, then stab'd himself, for a sure way.
Or first he stab'd himself, than wrung about
His Head for madness, that advis'd him to't;
Well Primrose, may our Godfrey's Name on thee
(Like Hyacinth) inscribed be:
On thee his Memory shall flourish still,
(Sweet as thy Flower, and lasting as thy Hill;)
Whilst blushing Somerset to her
Eternal shame, shall this Inscription bear:
The Devil's an Ass, for Jesuits on this spot
Broke both the Neck of Godfrey, & their Plot.

A Passionate SATYR upon a Devillish Great He-Whore that lives yonder at ROME.

A Pox on the Pope, with his damn'd bald Pate,
What a stir hath this Toad made here of late;
Such a Noise and a horrible Clamour
Is here with this Whore, a Plague of God on her.
[Page 49]Must the Kingdom and State be at a loss,
Leave their sweet Peace to lye under a Cross?
Must Church and Church-men be expos'd to scorns,
Tost up and down by a Beast with Ten Horns?
Must Christians that know no more but one God,
Worship Ten Thousand, or be scourg'd with a Rod?
Must Beads, and a Cross, and a Relick from Ione,
Make us fall down to Prayers right or wrong?
Must Hobgoblin Mass, that's learn'd of Old-Nick,
Complement God for the Well and the Sick?
Must Water bless'd by a Conjuring Monk,
Scoure away Sins from a Pockyfi'd Punk?
Must Souls be pray'd out, the Devil hath got,
At so much per Mass, else there they must rot?
Must Sinners be sav'd by Old Sinning Gulls?
I'll ne're beg your Pardon, those are damn'd Bulls.
Must We, Canibal-like, eat up our God,
Or else must We not in Heaven have aboad?
Must Fire and Wood burn all that won't bow,
Worship S. Doll, and the Devil knows who?
Must Ignorance be our Guide to Glory,
Then Heaven I'm sure is but an Old Story.
Must all Men be blind that open their Eyes,
That Priests may do what they please with their Wives [...]
Must killing of Kings, and Princes to boot
Be Marks that the Pope is sound at the Root?
Must a Conclave of Rogues, and Jesuit Priests,
Perswade all the World to Worship the Beast?
Must the Pope order all by Sea and by Land,
Who must turn out, and who is to [...]
[Page 50]Must those be intrusted that swear and receive
What e're you impose, that they may deceive?
Must Iudas be saved that eat of the Sop?
No, by the Mass, he deserved the Rope:
Must such be employed at Sea and at Shore,
That would subvert all to set up the Whore?
Must those be good that designed to seem such?
Who in Parliament time subscrib'd to the Church:
Must We all be undone by a damn'd Popish Crew,
Some that is about us, and some We ne're knew?
Must the King and his Friends see and know this,
And yet be advised that nothing's amiss?
Must this be the Trap, then the Devil take it,
Our Hogs We've brought to a blessed Market.

Vpon the Execution of the late Viscount STAFFORD.

I.
SHall every Jack and every Jill,
That rides in State up Holbourn Hill
By aid of Smithfield Rhymes defie
The Malice of Mortality?
And shall Lord Stafford dye forgot?
He that would needs be such a Sot,
To dye for love of a damn'd Plot?
No, Viscount, no; believe it not.
II.
Diana's Temple, all in flame,
Advanc'd th' Incendiaries Name;
Ruffians, and Bauds, and Whores, and Theives,
In Ballad Records live new lives:
And shall a Lord because a Traytor,
In such an Age so given to flatter,
Want that which others, Saints to him,
Ne're want to fame them, Words, and Rhime.
III.
Oh Sir! the Papishes, you know
Have much more gratitude than so;
For this same Lord that brake the Laws
Of God and Man, to serve their Cause,
Shall live in Pravers, and Almanacks
Beyond what Ballad-Monger makes;
And some Years hence, you'l see, shall work
Such Miracles, would turn a Turk.
IV.
Blest is that Man that has a Box
To save the Saw-dust in, that sokes
His tainted Blood, or can besmeare
One corner of his Muckinder:
Oh! then, some Ages hence they'l cry
Lo, Stafford's Blood, and shed for why?
For nothing but because he sought
To kill his Prince, and sham the Plot.
V.
Now they that dye for crimes like these,
The Papists send to Heaven with case:
[Page 52]For they secure 'em safe from Hell,
Which once believ'd, the rest is well.
A strange Belief, that Men should think
That were not drunk with worse than Drink;
That such Rewards as Deifying,
By Treason should begain'd and Lying.
VI.
The Man that for Religion dyes,
Has nothing more before his Eyes:
But he that dyes a Criminal,
Dyes with a load, and none can call
Religion that which makes him dream,
Obduracy can hide his shame.
VII.
The Pope may do what he Conjectures
As to the business of his Pictures,
The Colours ne're can hide the Crimes,
Stories will read to after Times.
And 'twill be found in the Hangman's Hands,
Will strangely blur the Pope's Commands.
VIII.
Had he but shewed some Christmas Gambles,
And Headless took St. Denis Rambles:
The Plot had been a damnable thing,
And down had gon the Scaffolding;
But 'cause his Lordship this forgot,
Men still believe there is a Plot.
IX.
Where was St. Dominick asleep?
Where did St. Frank his Kennel keep?
[Page 53]That on a business so emergen,
They did not brisly teize the Virgin?
To let his Lordship play a Prank
Her Grace becoming, and his Rank?
X.
But they that Heaven and Earth Command,
You see sometimes they're at a stand;
For truth to tell ye, should the Saints
Be bound to hear all Fools complaints;
Their Lives would be as void of mirth
In Heaven, as formerly on Earth.
XI.
Now Ballad [...]wise before he's dead,
To tell ye what the Sufferer said;
He both defended, and gain-said,
Held up his hands and cry'd, and pray'd,
And swore he ne're was in the Plot,
No, by his Vicountship. God wot.
XII.
Come, come, Sir, had it not been better
To have dy'd to Death common Debter?
And that upon your lasting Stone,
This Character had been alone?
Here lies a very Honest Lord,
True to his King, true to his Word.
XIII.
But those of your Religion,
Are now a days so damn'd high flown,
You think that nothing makes a Saint
But Plot refin'd, and Treason Quaint;
[Page 54]And Heaven accepts no Offerings,
But Ruin'd Kingdoms, Murdered Kings.
XIV.
Now you that knew who were his Judges,
Who found him Guilty without grudges,
Who gave him over to the Block,
And how he sham'd to save the stroak,
If you believe the Speech he made ye,
Le'strange, and P—ton's shame degrade ye.
XV.
Thus us'd all Arts that could cajole,
You may be sure, his silly Soul;
And were those promises perform'd,
With which his Conscience they had charm'd,
Who would betray a Cursed Plot,
To be when Dead, the Lord knows what?
XVI.
But if those jolly Promises
Do send thee into Little [...]ase,
As certainly they must undo thee,
What ever Fools and Knaves said to thee;
Then Phlegeus like in Hell condole,
And Curse them that betray'd thy Soul.
XVII.
Now God preserve our Noble King,
And bless all them that thus did bring
Unto the Block that silly Head,
That car'd not what it did or said.
And all good Men may Heaven defend,
From such a vile untimely End.

The Lord STAFFORD's Ghost, &c.

FRom Stygian shade, lo, my pale Ghost doth rise,
To visit Earth, and these sublunar Skies;
For some few moments I'm in Mercy sent,
To bid my Fellow-Traytors to Repent:
Repent before you taste of Horrid Fate,
Your Guilt confess, before it be too late.
I am not here arriv'd on Earth, to tell
The hidden secrets that belong to Hell:
Nor am I sent to publish or declare▪
Who are tormenters, whom tormented there.
For now I know that it is Heavens decree,
These things to Mortals still shall secrets be;
Who have fantastick Dreams, and nothing know,
Of what is done above, or yet below:
But I have seen with my Immortal Eyes,
Things that with horror do my Soul surprize;
Too late alas! too late, I see my Sin,
With strange Chymera's I've deluded been,
By a curs'd brood, who sounded in my Ear,
Dye obstinate, no Chains of Conscience fear:
Upon us firmly let your Faith be built,
We can and do Absolve you from your Guilt;
And after this, you need no more Repent,
For you a Martyr dye, and Innocent.
O Cursed Men! who on Wretches thus Intrude,
And thus poor Souls, Eternally delude:
[Page 56]Whilst they believe what these deluders say,
Li [...]e is snatch'd from them, and they drop away;
And falling down, by Charon Death they're hurl'd
Into the Mansions of a dismal World,
Where Conscience stands, and stares them in the face,
Shewing a Table of Eternal Brass:
In which in noted Characters are wrot
Their whole lifes crimes, which living they forgot.
With Conscience these have an Eternal strife,
And Curse the vain delusive Dreams of Life:
With torment now their crimes read o're and o're,
And waking, see they did but Dream before:
Too late, and than too late, what Plague is worse?
They see their folly, and themselves they Curse;
They Curse themselves, because they did believe,
And doubtly Curse those who did them deceive.
When to the fatal Scaffold I was brought,
I said, and did what I was bid, and laught,
Tho' Conscience said, I did not what I ought.
Stoutly the Guilt, as I was bid, deny'd,
And for the Cause, I Rome's great Martyr dy'd.
I that Religion then esteemed good,
And gladly would have seal'd it with my Blood,
Because I then no better understood.
Let not the World to vain delusions flye,
I did for Treason, not Religion, dye.
Tho' on the Scaffold I would not confess,
My Ghost, alas! too late can do no less.
Let all Complotters warning take by me,
The World we may delude, but God doth see;
[Page 57]Tho' what we did should never come to light,
It can't be hid from the Almighty's sight:
Give God the Glory, and confess your Crime,
Confess your horrid Treason while you've time;
Publick Confession shews you do Repent,
And is the best way to grow Innocent.
I see too late, I have been led astray,
And by Error, far from Truth, was led away;
For that Religion never can be good,
That would erect it self by Humane Blood.
I pin'd my self upon anothers sleeve,
And blindly I did as the Church believe;
What my delusive Guides did bid me do,
That I believ'd was Holy, Just, and True.
With Zeal I acted, and hop'd for Applause,
Of Men and Heaven, in so good a Cause:
But Oh! I sigh, and now my Airy Ghost,
Shivers to think what Blessings I have lost:
The broadway to Destruction then I took,
And Vertues Road my blinded Zeal mistook.
But you my Friends, who yet are left behind,
Now to your selves, and to your Souls be kind;
Open her Eyes, and be no longer blind,
Pry my sad End, do you your Errors find.
Confess your Crimes before it be too late,
Confess, confess, before you yield to Fate:
Before from Life, and from the World you go,
Before that you descend to Shades below,
Before your Souls taste of Eternal Woe.
[Page 58]Truth cannot Dye, it stronger is than Death,
Remains when Mortals have resign'd their breath;
To amazed Souls with Conscience she appears,
To aggravate, and to encrease their fears.
Confess her while you live, though drawn to Sin,
Repentance with Confession doth begin.
Believe no longer that accursed Brood,
Who on the Necks of Kings have proudly trod,
Nor him who thinks himself an Earthly God.
Those Hectoring Jesuits who so Zealous be,
Who think to Rule the World by Policy;
Who to the Gallows seem with joy to come,
To be the Martyrs, and the Raints of Rome.
When Life is fled, and they are gon from hence,
In tumbling down are waked into Sense;
Where all amaz'd, and wondring where they've bin,
They howl, and cry, and wish to Dye agin.
Beware I say, be fool'd no longer here,
For Rhadamanthus is a Judge severe.
Hark! I am call'd, I must descend below,
But let me Prophesie before I go:
See the bright Star [...] which o're your Heads doth shine,
I can as well as Gadbury Divine;
What the bright stream of Radient Light doth mean,
Which every Night so frequently is seen.
Hear me, O Rome! though in your Cause I dy'd,
Nigh is the setting of your Pomp and Pride:
That Star doth shew, that day is near at hand,
That Rome no longer shall the world command,
And many Years it hath not now to stand.
[Page 59]By that bright stream, which still points to the East,
The Everlasting Gospel's Light's exprest:
Which just is breaking forth, and doth bespeak,
That its most Glorious Day's about to break;
When Peace, and Truth, and Righteousness shall stand,
Everlasting Pillars set in every Land,
And Christ in Power alone the world command.
Then shall the world shine with Eternal Glory,
And Perhaps, may then leave PVRGATORY.

The Ghosts of Edward Fitz Harris, and Oliver Plunket, who were Executed at Tyburn for High Treason, &c.

Fitz Harirs.
I Groan and Languish to Relate
My Countries present Case and State,
Which now lies under pressures great.
I have been in my time a Thing,
That would have done ought 'gainst the King,
Whereby I Popery in might bring.
I Boggled not Shams to devise,
Whereby to charge upon (with Lies)
The Presbyterians Plotting Guise.
Tho' they in Truth for ought I knew,
Had naught under design or view
But what was Loyal, Just, and True.
In order this Sham-Plot to vent,
I a damn'd Libell did invent,
'gainst both the King and Government.
Plunket.
[Page 60]
Tush, Fellow Martyr, Tush I say,
You do what misbecomes your way,
Rome's Plottings if you do betray.
For what Man ever think you, got
A Pardon for being in the Plot,
That to the last deny'd it not?
Or ever heard you was there one
That was o'th Roman Church a Son,
But went on as he had begun?
D'ye think you ever sav'd shall be,
If you retract not what you say,
And Holy Church don't justifie?
I as a Priest pronounce you damn'd,
You shall be into Hell now Cram'd,
If you persist in things forenam'd.
And there in endless Torments lye,
Whilst all our Rogueries I deny,
And thereby into Heaven fly.
Fitz.
If Heaven Sir, you think to win,
By persevering in known Sin,
You will I doubt fall into th' Gin.
For if one Crime that unrepented
Be damnable, how you've prevented
Your Fate I know not, but contented
Am, that you should a Papist dye,
And so by telling many a lye,
To Heav'n reach, but I, Poor I,
Will make a free and true discov'ry
Of what I know at large or by
Of this vile Plot which I decry;
[Page 61] [...]ost Heartily confessing, that
[...] truly sorry am, for what
[...]ve done, t'advance the Romish Plot.
[...]or now at last I plainly see
[...]omes Religion's damn'd Heresie
[...]ept up, and carryed on by Cursed Cruelty.
[...]or else how comes it pray about,
Our Friends to'th Cause have been so stout
Toth' very last, to brave it out?
[...] wonder how you durst presume,
God's Sacred Name in Mouth t'assume,
To justifie your Lyes, and Rome.
And thereby weakly to keep up
The Credit of your damn'd Pope,
Tho't cost you Hell for't, and a Rope.
I do confess I justly dye
For serving you and Popery,
In Villanies I Blush to say.
My Judges freely I forgive,
Being one no way deserv'd to Live,
No, nor the grace of a Reprieve.
'Twas favour great indeed, I think,
For th' King to give me, on the brink
Of my sad Fate, time e're I sink.
Wherein I reconcil'd might be
To the enraged Diety,
For Crimes against His Majesty.
And might my Countries danger tell,
And what had surely it befell, ( Viz.)
All Protestants that therein dwell.
[Page 62]Oh! that this time allotted me,
Whereon depends my Eternity,
May tend to extirpate Popery.
May I therein do all such things,
As may Attone the King of Kings,
Which is the thing true comfort brings.
And likewise warn poor England yet,
In this dark day, e're it be too late,
To avoid both French and Popish▪State.
And may it, as one Man, oppose
It self to Ruin by its Foes,
And strive to save it self from Threat and Woes.
May now my Soul lie down in Peace,
And ne're hereafter may it cease,
To praise the God of Infinite Grace.
Pl.
What long Harangues, Sir, have you mad [...]
You've made me by 'em quite afraid,
To Persevere in what I said.
I do confess likewise, that I
Concern'd was much i'th Villany,
For which I am Condemn'd to Die.
And that from Popish Treachery,
England was like Reduc'd to be.
To French and Romish Tyranny.
But this I always took for Truth,
That what comes out o'th' Churches Mouth,
Is Oracle from North to South.
And when I knew the Church had given
Power to go on with the Old Leaven,
I thought it surely come from Heaven.
[Page 63]But now I doubt I was mistaken,
And fear Rome Babel will be shaken,
If England throughly awaken.
I am in Truth in doubt, we shall
E're long receive a lasting fall,
Ne're more to vex the World at all.
And though I Dye o'th' Church of Rome,
Yet I believe those things will come
Upon her, which will be the Final Doom.
Fitz.
Sir, If you do these things Believe,
Your self you wretchedly deceive,
If that you quickly don't receive.
The Protestants Religion's good,
Which I almost Conform to cou'd,
But for my having sought their Blood.
Pl.
If then Sir, you are not convinced
Which is the Right, pray do not mince it,
But leave to Time for to evince it.
And let us hearttly both joyn,
And in our Prayers now combine,
I'th' words of the ensuing Line.
Both.
May God long Bless the King, we Pray,
And all Plots 'gainst him still bewray.
Popish and Factious, and let all Men lay

Amen.

The Answer of Coleman's Ghost, to H. N's. POETICK OFFERING.

Rise Nevil, Rise and do not punish me,
With the vain sight of your Idolatry.
You may with equal Reason call upon
The good Saint I [...]arus or Phaeton,
Who do the Sacred Name deserve as far,
As some who blush in Roman Kalendar:
With like Ambition I design'd to know
No other Triumphs but of things below;
And rather labour'd how there might be given,
French Crowns, postponing all the Crowns of Heaven.
Favour'd in this, because kind Heaven declines
My high Intr [...]gues, and baffles my Designs.
None with more covetous Zeal pursu'd our Cause,
Or fell a more due Sacrifice to Laws.
In that sad day when strangled Life expir'd,
And the just flames my bloody Limbs requir'd,
Whilst my hot Soul in hasty flight retires,
From Tyburns only Purgatory Fires.
Immortal shapes crowd on in Troops to view,
My Plotting Soul and stopt me as I flew,
Such Spirits who Incarnate ever mov'd
In their By-Paths, and never quiet lov'd.
The Cunning Machiavel drew near and fear'd,
Screek't a [...] the sight of me and disappeard.
[Page 65]Shewing how weak all human Plots are laid,
Where Hopes and Souls have always been betray'd.
Scylla and Marius wondring at our Crimes,
Pityed the near misfortune of our times,
Sigh'd at those streams of blood which were to run,
And curst our Tables of Proscription.
Fierce Cataline our Villany decry'd,
To whom the bold Cethegus soon reply'd,
How New Rome imitates and yet exceeds
In dire Conspiracies our puny deeds!
Great Caesars Ghost with Envy lookt on me,
That for Romes sake I aim'd at more than he,
To Conquer all the Isles of Britanny,
Yet blam'd the Cruelties which were to come,
From that Dictator which now reigns at Rome.
Spiritual Dictator! who more controuls
Than he, and claps his Fetters on our Souls?
He told me old Romes Walls had longer stood,
If Romulus had spar'd his Brothers blood
And that Romes happiness grew always worse,
When it resembled the fierce Wolf its Nurse.
Ah, my good Friend, how clearly do I find,
In this new State the faults of human kind.
Nothing procures so high a place above,
As Universal Charity and Love,
Infus'd and manag'd by the Heavenly Dove
Heav'n is quiet Kingdom which we call
Your injur'd Scriptures true Original,
There no false Comments on the Text appear,
Nor must Trents Swurio [...]s Council dom [...]eer.
[Page 66]Sometime with me, dear Nevel, you must grant,
The Church Triumphant to be Protestant.
If against them on Earth Romes Malice thrives,
'Tis not Romes Cause prevails, but their ill Lives.
So Babylon of old vext Israel,
And wicked Men raise Enemies from Hell.
As once on Earth I did your good attend,
So now for Love I am your Ghostly Friend:
Let your Soul hate all bloody ways and things,
To subvert States and Laws, to murther Kings.
Or you are sure to equal my disgrace,
And without Mercy you may name your place.

A Dialogue between the POPE and the TURK, Concerning the Propagation of the Catholick Faith.

POPE.
HAil mighty Monarch! by whose aid
I hope I shall subdue,
And for the future make afraid
The whole Heretical Crew;
You will both wise and grateful prove
While you with me combine,
Who always have shew'd you my love,
And now your good design.
TVRK.
What mean these ambiguities
With which to me you come?
[Page 67]Is th' Oracle of doubtful lies
From Delphos gone to Rome?
Your kindness I ne're understood,
Whatever you pretend
To him, to whom you ne'er did good,
How can you be a Friend?
POPE.
Ungrateful Man! do you forget
How I did once betray
The Grecian-Empire, which as yet
Your Scepter doth obey?
I did the Greeks to Florence call,
And kept them there with me:
And you were Master made of all,
Before we could agree.
TVRK.
This manifests your wickedness
And makes your cause yet worse;
I see no reason you to bless,
Though Greece hath cause to Curse:
You prove your Treachery indeed,
But not your love to me,
You'd ne're have helpt me in my need,
If they'd submitted t'ee.
POPE.
I think I stood your Friend (good Sir)
When Iames did aspire:
I both did keep him Prisoner,
And poyson'd him for hire;
[Page 68]Then against France 'twas I did send
For your victorious Arms,
With promise that I would defend
Your Kingdoms from all harms.
TVRK.
Two Hundred Thousand Florens, when
You did my Brother's work,
You had: The Benefactor then
Was not the Pope but Turk;
'Tis true, me once you did invite
Your int'rest to advance;
Not cause you lov'd me, but for spite
Against the King of France.
POPE.
Though still Ingratitude you pay
For kindnesses good store,
If you'l be rul'd, I'le on you lay
One obligation more▪
I'le raise your Empire yet so high,
That you shall straitway yield
That I pull down, and only I
Do Monarchies rebuild.
TVRK.
For all your talk, I still do fear
That while you make a pother,
And with one hand pretend to rear,
You pull down with the other:
But what is't now that I must do,
My Kingdoms to extend;
[Page 69]That I may see at last that you
Are really my Friend?
POPE.
Why first I'le give you all those Lands
That 'gainst me do Rebel,
Go take them strait into your Hands,
I've curst their Kings to Hell;
I freely to the King of Spain
The British Islands gave:
He wanted strength those Isles to gain,
Which I am sure you have.
TVRK.
You're generous Sir, and at one word
Great Territories grant,
Which if Men gain not by the Sword,
They must for ever want:
So while you Saintship give to some,
And frankly Heaven bestow,
I doubt (what ere's decreed at Rome)
Their Portion is below.
POPE.
Whether Heav'n and Hell are in my gift
I do not greatly care,
(Let learned Men those Questions sift)
sure earthly Kingdoms are;
I can from antient deeds declare
What pow'r belongs to me:
The greatest Kings are what they are
By my Authority.
TVRK.
[Page 70]
I've often heard what Tricks you use
To help you in your needs,
Sometimes you do the World abuse
With forged Books and Deeds:
Sometimes you Kingdoms give away
(As now you do to me)
Hoping that thus obliged, they
Your Vassals still will be.
POPE.
If I your Benefactor be,
I hope you won't think much,
(When I've rais'd you to high degree)
To Honour me as such:
If Vniversal Monarchy
You do receive from me,
The Vniversal Pastor I
May be allow'd to be.
TVRK.
I understand your kindness now,
Me thus you will advance,
If unto you I'le cringe and bow,
And after your Pipe dance;
Then you'l unto me be so kind,
That you will crack your brain,
Some place i'th Alcoran to find,
That shall your Pride maintain.
This Honour more you'l on me heap.
Whenever I you meet,
[Page 71]That on my Knees I strait must creep,
To Kiss your Worships Feet.
When ere your Pride I do oppose,
You'l curse me strait to Hell;
My Subjects too shall ne're want those
Shall stir them to Rebel.
You still unto me plagues will send
As you have done to others▪
From Priests I must my self defend,
Worse than aspiring Brothers:
Where you set foot no Prince is free,
But strait must be your slave,
Good Sir, pray cease to treat with me;
I other business have.

On Sir John Oldcaste, Lord Cobham, who suffered' December 1417.

ROMES old new fraud in Cobhoms Fate we view;
The Hereticks must still be Traitors too;
All Popish Sham-plots are not hatch'd of late
Long since thir Int'rest cnllid in the State;
For God; and for the King the Prelates cry'd
But only meant thir own Revenge and Pride.
Had the sly Meal-tub fadg'd, or Irish Oathes
Been Jury-proof, old Churches hated Foes
Ere now, had been Old-Castled, Hang'd and Burn'd;
And Loyalst Patriots into Rebells turn'a.
[Page 72]But Midwife time at last brings Truth to light,
For after Death each Man receives his right.
Then sleep, brave Hero! till last Judgments day
Raisins to Glory thy twice martyr'd Clay
Romes Malice, and thy Innocence display

Ignoramus: a Song. To the Tune Law lies a bleeding.

[1]
SInce Popish Plotters,
Join'd with Bog-Trotters,
Sham Plots are made as fast, as Pots are form'd by Potters,
Against these Furies
There no such Cure is,
As what our Law provides, our True and Loyal Iuries.
The Action and Paction
Thar breeds our Distraction,
Is secretly contrived by the Popish Faction.
Who sham us and flam us,
Trepan us, and damn us,
And then grow enraged when they hear Ignoramus.
[2]
Traytors are rotten,
Yet not forgotten,
Nor Meal Tub Devices, which never well did cotten,
At evr'y Season
Inventing Treason,
And Shams that none believed that had or Sense or Reason
[Page 73]With fetches and stretches,
These notorious Wretches
Would get loyal Subjects into their bloody clutches.
They sham us, and flam us, &c.
[3]
If wicked Tories
Could pack their Iuries,
That would believe black, white, and all their lying Stories
Then by Art Stygian
Whig's prov'd a Widgeon,
And should be hang'd for plotting against the Popes Religion.
They'd hear a, and swear a
Thing that was a meer a
Gross Lie as e'r was told, and find it Bella vera.
Then sham us and flam us, &c.
[4]
This IGNORAMUS,
For which they blame us,
And to the pit of Hell, so often curse and damn us,
Are Men by Tryal.
Honest and Loyal,
And for their King and Country ready are to dieall,
They show it and vow it,
Honest Men to know it,
Their Loyalty they hold, and never will forgo it.
They sham us and flam us, &c.
[5]
At the Old-Baily
Where men don't dally
And Traytors oft are try'd, as Coleman, Whitebread, Staley,
[Page 74]Was late Indicted,
Witnesses cited,
A loyal Protestant, who spight of Rogues was righted,
Offences commences
'Gainst all Mens Senses,
'Cause the honest Jury believed not Evidences.
They sham us and flam us, &c.
[6]
For which a Villain
Who for ten Shilling
To hang a Protestant shall be found very willing.
Now at this season
And without reason,
Shall call the Jury Traytors, and the Law make Treason
In fashion is passion,
Curses and Damnation,
How quiet should we be, were Rogues sent to their station▪
They sham us, and flam us, &c.
[7]
'Las what is Conscience
Ith' Iesuits own Sence.
For the Church one may lie, and forswear without offence▪
Now what a Lurry,
Keeps barking Tory,
'Cause he is not able the Innocent to whorry!
Doth wrangle and brangle,
'Cause he cannot intangle,
Nor bring honest Tony to the Block or Triangle.
They sham us and flam us, &c.
8
I'll tell you what, Sir
You must go Plot, Sir,
And get better Witness e'r wise men go to pot Sir,
When such abettors,
Protestant haters
Would damn their souls to hell to make them wicked Traytors;
We mind it and wind it,
And are not now blinded,
For what we now reject, no honest Iury 'le find it,
They sham us and flam us,
They ram us and dam us,
When according to the Law, we find Ignoramus.

A SONG.

[1]
A Pox on Whigs we'l now grow wise
let's cry out guard the Throne,
By that we'l damn the Good Old Cause,
and make the Game our own:
Religion, that shall stoop to us,
and so shall Liberty,
We'l make their Laws as thin as Lawn,
such Tory Rogues are We.
[2]
When once that Preaching Whineing Crew
are crush'd and quite undone,
[Page 76]The Poor we'l banish by our Laws,
and all the rest we'l burn.
Then Abbey-Lands shall be possest
by those whose right they be,
We'l cry up Laws, but none we'l use,
such Tory Rogues are We.
[3]
The Name of Protestant we hate,
the Whigs they know it well,
And since we can't it longer hide
let's Truth genteely tell.
Now Dam me is good Manners grown,
and tends to Gallantry,
We'l S—the Nation out of Doors,
such Cursed Rogues are We.
[4]
What care We for a Parliament,
no Mony comes from thence,
Would they but give us Coyn enough,
we'l spend the Nations pence.
These Two-penny States-men all shall down,
a goodly sight to see,
To finish all, we'l plunder 'um too,
such Sons of Whores are We.
[5]
We'l build more Universities,
for there lies all our hope,
And to th' Crape Gown we'l cringe and creep
supposing 'twere a Pope;
[Page 77] [...]y what he will we'l him believe,
if true or false it be,
[...]nd while he prays we'l Drink his Health,
such Tory Rogues are We,
[6]
What Pimping Whig shall dare controule,
or check the Lawful Heir,
We'l take the Rascal by the Pole,
and Pox of all his Hair.
Then here goes honest Iame's Health,
come drink it on your Knee,
[...]zowns we'l have none but honest So [...]ls,
such Tory Rogues are We.
[7]
These Crafty Whigs are subtle Knaves
to give them all their due,
And yet we bauk'd the Popish Plot,
though they had sworn it true.
For this you know who we may thank,
But Mum for that, yet we
Are bound to pray and praise him for't,
such Tory Rogues are We.
[8]
When all these Zealous Whigs are down,
we'l drink and fall a roaring,
And then set up the Tripple Crown,
'twill Saint us all for Whoreing.
When we have quite inslav'd 'um all,
our selves cannot be free,
Then prithee Devil claim thy own,
[...]
9
We'l chuse their Sheriffs and Juries too
and then pretend 'tis Law,
We'l bring more Irish o're to swear
'gainst those they never saw:
We'l seize their Charters then they must
come beg 'um on their Knee,
If this won't do we'l call the French,
such cursed Rogues are We.

On the Death of the PLOT.

ALas! what thing can hope Death's Hand to 'scape,
When Mother-Plot her self is brought to Crape?
The teeming Matron at the last is Dead;
But of a numerous Spawn first brought to Bed:
The little Shamms, Abortives, without Legs,
(She laid, and hatch'd, as fast as Hens do Eggs.)
But they no sooner peep'd into the Light,
Than they kick'd up, and bid the World good night.
The Bantlings dyed always in their Cradle,
And th' Eggs, tho' kept in Meal-Tubs, still prov'd addle.
She liv'd to see her Issue go before her;
And some made ( Tyburn-Saints) who did adore her.
But what is strange, and not to be forgot,
The Plotters liv'd to see the Death of Plot:
And O—if now he will his Credit save,
Must raise thee up like Lazarus from the Grave.
[Page 79]Men, who their Sences have, do more than think
Thee dead, when it is plain thou now do'st stink.
Well fare thee Dead; for living thou mad'st work,
For Heathen, Iew, for Christian, and for Turk,
For Honest Men, and Knaves, for Wise, and Fool,
And eke for many a witless, scribling Tool;
Who now sit mute, pick Teeth, and scratch the Head,
Now th' Idol-Mother-Plot of Plots is dead.
But loath these are to believe News so sad,
And swear they think that all the World are mad:
But blame them not for being so much vext,
To lose the Uses of a gainful Text.
These swear she's in an Epileptick Fit,
And P—will bring her out of it.
Let them think on, and their dear selves deceive,
When I shall see her rise, I will believe,
And not before? In the mean time from me,
Accept, for her, this slender Elegy.
I do confess she does deserve the Rhimes
Of all the ready Writers of the Times:
But with wet Eyes they do in silence mourn,
As if they'd drown the Ashes in her Urn.
But here she lies whom none alive could paint,
Old Mother Plot, the Devil and the Saint.
A Popish-Protestant, Hermophradite,
An hidden piece that none could bring to Light.
A Mother, and a Monster rare, who had
A numerous Issue, and without a Dad;
A very strange, and an unnatural Elf,
Who hatch'd, brought forth, and then eat up her self;
[Page 80]Who's Dead, and stinks, yet whole, and will not
Was, is not now, yet ne're shall be forgot.
An uncouth Mystery of a Medley Fame,
A Plot, a Mother-Plot without a Name.
FINIS.
POEMS ON Several Occ …

POEMS ON Several Occasions. Written by the E. of R. Dr. Wild and others of the Choicest Modern Wits.

THE SECOND PART.

LONDON, Printed for Iohn How, at the Seven Stars at the South-West Corner of the Royal Ex­change in Cornhill, 1683.

Dr. WILD's Poem. In nova fert Animus, &c. OR, A New Song TO AN OLD FRIEND From An OLD POET, Upon the Hopeful New Parliament.

WE are All tainted with the Athenian Itch,
News, and new Things do the whole World bewitch.
Who would be Old, or in Old fashions Trade?
Even an Old Whore would fain go for a Maid:
The Modest of both Sexes, buy new Graces,
Of Perriwigs for Pates, and Paint for Faces.
Some wear new Teeth in an old Mouth; and some
Carve a new Nose out of an aged Bum.
[Page 84]Old Hesiod's gods Immortal Youth enjoy:
Cupid, though Blind, yet still goes for a Boy;
Under one Hood Hypocrite Ianus too,
Carries two fa [...]es, one Old, th' other New.
Apollo wears no Bea [...]d, but still looks young;
Diana, Pallas, [...], all the throng
Of Muses, Graces, Nymphs, look Bri [...]k▪ and Gay,
Priding themselves in a perpetual May:
Whiles doting Saturn, Pluto, Priserpin [...],
At their own ugly Wrinkles Rage and Grin;
The very Furies in their looks do twine.
Snakes, whose embro [...]dered skins [...] their shine;
And nothing makes Great Iuno chafe an [...] [...]cold,
But Ioves new Misses slighting her as [...]ld.
Poets, who others can Immo [...]tal [...],
When they grow Gray, their [...];
And seek young Temples, where they may, [...] Green;
No Palsie [...]and, may wash in Hypocrene;
'Twas not Terse Clarret, Eggs, and [...],
Nor Gobbets Crown'd with Gre [...]k or Span [...] Wine,
Could make new Flames in Old Ben Iohnsons V [...]ins,
But his Atto [...]ps prov'd l [...]nk and languid strain:
His New Inn (so he nam'd his youngest Pla [...],
Prov'd a blind Ale-house, cry'd down the first Day:
His own dull Epitaph— Here lies Ben Iohnson,
(Half drunken too) He Hick [...]upt— who was once one▪
Ah! this sad once one! once we Trojans were;
Oh, better never, if not still we are.
Rhymes of Old Men, Iliack passions be,
When that should downward go, comes up we see,
[Page 85]And are like Iews-Ears in an Elder-Tree;
When Spectacles do once bestride the Nose,
The Poet's Gallop turns to stumbling Prose.
Sir, I am Old, Cold, Mould; and you might hope
To see an Alderman dance on a Rope,
A Iudge to act a Gallant in a Play,
O [...] an Old [...]luralist Preach twice a day▪
Of [...] Taylor make a Valiant Knight,
[...] of a Iesuite;
As a [...] Old [...]ald-pate (such as mine you know)
Sh [...]ld make his Hair, or Wit and Fancy grow;
[...] is there need that such a Block as I
S [...]ould now be hew'd into a Mercury.
When Winter's gone, the O [...]d his foot may spare,
And to the Nightingales resign the Air.
Such is the beautiful new face of things:
By Heavens kind Influences, and the Kings,
Joy should inspire; and all in measures move,
And every Citizen a Virgil prove.
Each Protestant turn Poet; and who not
Should be suspected guilty of the Plot
If now the day doth dawn, our Cocks forbear
To clap their Wings and Crow, you well may swear,
It is their want of Loyalty, not Wit,
That makes them sullen, and so silent sit.
Galli of Gallick kind—I'le say no more,
But that their Combs are Cut, and they are sore;
Yet to provoke them, my Old Cock shall Crow,
That so his Eccho round the Town may go.

Upon the new Parliament.

MY Landlord underprop't his House some years,
Was often warn'd—'Twould fall about his Ears;
For the main Timber, That above, and under,
By every Bla [...]t was apt to rend asunder.
This year He gently took all down, and then
What of the Old prov'd sound, did serve agen.
May all the New be Heart of English Oak,
And the whole House stand firm from fatal stroke,
And nothing in't, the Founder e're provoke.
My Grandam, when her Bees were old and done,
Burnt the old Stock, and a new Hive begun;
And in one year she found a greater store
Of Wax and Honey than in all before.
Variety and Novelty delights;
Old Shooes and Mouldy Bread are Gibeonites.
When Cloaths grow thread bare, & breeds Vermin too,
To Long-Lane with them, and put on some new:
When Wine turns Vinegar—All Art is vain,
The World can never make it Wine again.
'Tis time to wean that Child, who bites the Breast;
And Chase those fowls, that do befowl the Nest.
When Nolls Nose found the Rump began to smell;
He dock't it, and the Nation lik'd it well.
Cast the old-mark't and greazy Cards away,
And give's a new Pack, else we will not Play;
Nothing but Pork, and Pork, and Pork to eat!
Good Landlord give's fresh COMMONS for our Meat.
[Page 87] Trent Council Thirty years lay sows'd in pickle,
Until it prov'd a stinking Conventicle.
And now Old Rome plays over her old Tricks,
This Seventy-nine, shall pay for Sixty-six:
Out of the Fire, like new refined Gold,
How bright new London looks above the Old!
All Creatures under Old Corruptions groan,
And for a New Creation make their moan:
The Phoenix (of her self grown weary) dyes
Unto succession a burnt-Sacrifice:
Old Eagles breed bad Hawks, and they worse Kites,
And they blind Buzzards (as Old Pliny Writes),
Deans, Prebends, Chaplins think themselves have wrong,
When Bishops live unmercifully long;
And poor Dissenters beg they may ascend
Into a Pulpit from the Tables end.
And who hath not by good experience found
Best Crops are gained by new-broken ground.
And the first feed—OATS sifted clean and sound?
But yet Old Friends, Old Gold, Old King, I prise:
Old Tyburn take them who do otherwise:
Heaven Chase the Vulture from our Eagles Nest,
And let no Ravens this March-Brood molest;

Another.

BReak, Sacred Morn, on our expecting Isle,
An [...] make our Albion's sullen Genius Smile;
His Brightest Glories let the Sun Display,
He Rose not with a more important Day
Since CHARLES Return'd on his Triumphant way:
Gay as a Bridegroom then our Eves he drew,
And now seems Wedded to his Realms anew.
Great Senate, hast, to joyn your Royal Head,
Best Council by the best of Monarchs sway'd:
Methinks our Fears already are o're blown,
And on our En'mies Coast their Terrour thrown.
Darlings of Fame, you Brittish Bards that wrote
Of Old, as warmly as our Heroes fought,
Aid me a bold Advent'rer for the Fame
O'th' British State, and Touch me with your Flame;
Steep my rude Quill in your diviner Stream,
And raise my daring Fancy to my Theam.
Give me th' Heroick Wings—to Soar as High
As Icarus did, I would like Icarus Die!
Now I behold the bright Assembly Met,
And 'bove the Rest our Sacred Monarch Set,
Charm'd with the dazling Scene, without a Crime,
My Thoughts reflect on th' Infancy of Time,
And wrap me in Idea's most Sublime.
I think how at the new Creation, Sate
Th' Eternal Monarch in his Heaven's fresh State;
The Stars yet wondring at each others Fires,
And all the Sons of Glory Rankt in Quires.
[Page 89]Hail, awful Patriots, Peers by Birth, and you
The Commons, for high Vertues, Noble too!
The First by Heav'n, in this Assembly plac'd,
And by Heav'ns Voice, the Peoples Votes, the Last.
As Various Streams from distant Regions fall,
And in the Deep their general Council call;
Conveying thence Supplies to their first Source,
And fail not to maintain their rowling Course:
Our Senate thus, from every Quarter call'd,
And in compleat Assembly here Install'd,
Shall deal their Influence to each Province round,
And in our Isle no [...] Spot be found.
Iustice as plenteous as our Thames shall Flow,
In Peace the Sailer Steer, and Peasant Plow.
From Forreign wrongs safe shall our Publick be,
And Private Rights from Home Oppressors free:
Degrees observ'd, Customs and Laws obey'd,
Dues, less through Force, than Fear of Scandal paid.
Proceed, brave Worthies then to your Debates;
Nor to Decree alone our Private Fates,
But to Judge Kingdoms and dispose of States.
From You their Rise, or Downfall, they assume,
Expecting from our Capitol their Doom▪
You Form their Peace and War, as You approve
They close in Leagues, or to fierce Battel move.
And though the Pride of France has swell'd so high
A Warlike Empire's Forces to D [...]fie,
To crush th' United Lands Confed'rate Pow'r,
And silence the loud Belgian Lion's Roar;
Yet let their Troops in Silent Triumph come
From Vanquisht Fields, and Steal their Trophies home,
[Page 90]Take care their Cannon at Iust Distance Roar,
Nor with too near a Volley rouze our Shore;
Left our disdaining Islanders Advance
With Courage taught long since to Conquer France,
Seizing at Once their Spoils of many a Year,
And Cheaply Win what they oft bought too Dear:
Their late Success but juster Fear affords,
For they are now grown Worthy of our Swords.
Howe're 'tmust be confest, the Gallick Pow'rs
Can ne're Engage on Equal Terms with Ours.
In Nature we have th' Odds, they Dread, we Scorn,
The English o're the French are Conqu'rers Born.
The Terrour still of our Third Edwards Name
Rebukes their Pride, and Damps their tow'ring Fame;
Nor can the Tide of many rouling Years
Wash the stain'd Fields of Cressey and Po [...]ctiers.
A pointed Horrour strikes their Bosoms still,
When they Survey that famous, fatal Hill,
Where Edward with his Host Spectator stood,
And left the Prince to make the [...]onquest good.
The Eagle thus from her fledg'd Young withdraws,
Trusts 'em t' engage whole Troops of Kites and Daw [...].
Nor has the black Remembrance left their Brest,
How our Fifth Harry to their Paris prest,
Whilst France wept blood for their hot Dauphins Jest,
We fore't their Cavalry their Foot t'ore-run,
As Tides withstood, bear their own Billows down:
Such was the Virtue of our Ancestours,
And such, on just Resentment, shall be Ours;
Our temper'd Valour just Pretence requires,
As Flints are Struck, before they shew their Fires.

Vpon the Prentices-Feast at Merchant-Taylors-Hall.

THe busie Town grew still, and City Fops
Had bid adieu to melancholly Shops,
Had left their lonesome Cell [...], and did repair
To Drink, to Whore, to Feast, or take the air,
I knew not which; but being Young I follow'd
The shouting croud, and most devoutly hollow'd.
At length arrived at a place they call
The Cockscombs-Court or Merchant-Taylors-Hall,
Where the starv'd Prentices kept Carnival,
I enter'd; where in most prodigious sort
Tables were placed al-a-mode at Court,
I saw a Monster as I entered in
(At first I took him for a rowling Pin)
'Till bowing with a grave Majestick grace
Drew up his chaps; and said, Sir take your place;
And so I did, for at a Loyal Dinner
There is no difference 'twixt Saint and Sinner:
In one place sat an hungry Irish Teague,
And in another a fly cunning Whigg;
In drouzy murmurs eccho'd round the Hall
The different voices of the Festival:
At length the young shop Beagles enter'd in,
And made a most confused hideous din;
They yelp and bawl upon the hunting strain
As if they meant to kill the Bucks again,
[Page 92]Till monumental Pasty did arise,
Which stopt their Tongues and feasted all their eyes,
The sharp set Prentices could scarce forbear
While Dr. Crape did say a Puny Prayer,
Which he made hast to do; but kept his Eye
Divinely fixt upon a Pudding pye,
Least some base sneaking Rascal should convey
The Schollars well beloved bit away.
He having said, they all did cease from prating,
Left speaking nonsence, and all fell to eating.
One crys God save the King! Rips up a Pye,
But trayterous steam did put out every Eye.
And then he damns the Cook, and calls him So [...]
To serve a Pasty up that was so hot;
Another gently tastes, and then he swore
In all his Life he ne're eat Buck before;
Another his long silence 'gan to break,
But's mouth was fill'd so full he could not speak;
A fourth (whom they deem'd to be i'th right)
Declar'd 'twas better for to eat then fight.
At length their hungry paunches being full,
With fill'd up Glasses, and with empty Scull,
Bending their Marrow-bones unto the ground,
With hoarse huzza's the Loyal Health went round.
How many converts Wine and Age do make?
When forc'd the earthly Region to forsake,
The aged Sinners whine in pious tone;
So every Drunkard is a Loyal Drone.
I (who as Loyal am, as tite, as true
As any of the Drunken Tory crew)
[Page 93]Of all the modern Healths ne're drank but this
The best, the Loyallest, his Majesties.
But now was forc'd to drink all Healths of Fame
A Catalogue, alas! too hard to name;
For which base fact, I'm markt a fallen star
In every Presbiterian Callender;
But if they call me sot and fool, and say
I was a Rogue; it was but for a day;
I drank a Papist Health, and since 'twas so
I had a mental reservation too;
I in deceit to some a fool did show,
Tories to all are naturally so;
Free from the Peoples censure and disdain
I've cast my Tories skin, and now am Whigg again.

A Rejoynder to the Whiggish Poem upon the Tory-Prentices-Feast at Mar­chant-Taylors-Hall.

WELL! Tory Poets answers come at last,
The Tory Sots never write Verse in hast;
Or else the Cur got drunk like snoaring Sow,
Lay under Board, and never wak't 'till now;
But if the noise the yelping Beagles keep
Did waken him, his Verse I'm sure's asleep.
I'le swear, I thought (when first I looked on
His Poem) he had sent me back mine own:
It began alike; alike almost throughout,
'Twas only mine was turn'd the inside out:
[Page 94]'Tis a damn [...]d [...]rick the Tory Tools have got,
To kill an Enemy with his own Shot:
Had he not imped me, he'd been to seek
For an Exordium another week;
For of the To [...]y Poets I must say
It's a witty Rogue can write a Verse a day
But Gaffer-Goose-Cap, who tould you such stories,
His Majesty sent Bucks to feast the Tories?
You might as well have said the King was drest
In Royal Robes, and came to be your guest.
But you may speak amiss, amiss may do,
It had been Treason if I had said so;
Tories may murder Fame, may Honour kill,
May slander Kings, and yet be Loyal still,
Their Loyalty consist in doing ill,
You may 'tis like by these your Verses lewd,
Make the mistaken To [...]y multitude
Believe I Treason spake, and that I swore,
And I may safely say, you'l Drink and Whore,
But this for truth they all do know before.
That Noble-men were Priests, I ne're said so;
But Doctor Crape-Gown's may, for ought I know;
'Twas Scandalum magnatum, if I do in jest
But speak one word 'gainst Stewards of the Feast;
Though Lords be high, yet Prentices are low,
And lowsie Taylors still were counted so:
You may say what you please, but without doubt
I may speak Treason against the Rugged-Rout;
And Silly Fops 'cause they've all Whiggs abhorr'd,
Shall have as good a title as a Lord;
[Page 95]And prosecute for scandal whom they please:
Such Lordly things are lordly Prentices.
No, silly Citts! for ever doom'd to Shops,
Keep still your antient titles, Fools and Fops.
This Sham won't take; I'm Loyal still and true,
Although I'm scandaliz'd by traiterous you;
Disloyal Tories! you the Traytors are;
Whilst Loyal Baxter, Curtis, Loyal Care.
Bravely maintain their Soveraigns right in truth,
Without e're feasting of the snotty Youth,
True Whiggs ne're stoopt to such mean tricks as these,
To feast the hungry sniveling Prentices.
Illustrious Charles! by all that's great and high!
(Tho I am branded with Disloyalty)
No fawning Courtier e're shall so much glose
As I'le detest thine and thy Nations Foes;
No Charles the third, nor budding Embryo-King
Shall be the Subject for my Muse to sing.
Whilst thou do live; let Traiterous Tories sooth,
And raise Sedition in the Factious Youth;
Long may'st thou live and flourish in thy Throne,
Whilst all these little Kings shall basely tumble down.

An Answer to the Tories Pamphlet called, The Loyal Feast:

To the Tune of Sauney will never be my Love again.
TOries are Tools of Irish Race,
And well belov'd by Blades of the Town;
They've Irish Hearts, but an English Face,
And Dammee and Huzza is all their tone.
[Page 96]With Abhorring and Addressing their time is spent,
Quaffing and Cursing, though all in vain:
But the main thing they fear is an honest Parliament
For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain.
2.
Tories are made like Bristol Cans,
Round and hollow, but I'le tell you more anon;
The Word is, Dammee Iack! meet me at Sams;
There's honest Roger, and Flat-footed Tom,
Huffing and swearing in Silk so fine,
Black-Coats, Red-Coats, Lord and Swain;
E're long they'l Petition Caesar to resign,
For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain.
3.
These are the Lads that fight the Pope's Cause,
And all resolved, like pious good men,
To hang by nothing but the Right Line and Laws,
If the Pope and his Crew return not again;
Bristol's Tears and England's Woes,
With Scotland's Groans, do tell us plain,
They will not take the Oaths they impose,
For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain.
4.
These are the Babes that wou'd shirk off the Plot,
And under the Name of the Churches true Sons,
Swear, Lye, and Sham, to have it forgot;
But a Pox take the Fops they talk not to Nuns.
They'll swear (but who'll be thus deceiv'd)
That Godfrey murder'd himself 'tis plain;
But the Devil on't is, they can't be believ'd,
Because the Tory's a Rogue in Grain.
5.
But hark! sure I hear the noise of a Feast,
Mars and his Sons with a glorious Show,
The thing's very true, though I took it for a Jeast:
But here pray observe how they march'd from Bow,
O! the vast number, and well accourt'd too:
These Bonny-boys, with their glistering Train;
But yet the hir'd Feathers, and Fagot Merchants knew,
That Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain.
6.
The board being spread with store of Flesh and Fish,
The Fat Kid, Wine, and other things besides;
The French Mode observ'd, to garnish every Dish,
And each course serv'd up with Crucifix and Bread:
Oaths Rot the Whiggs, with Huzza's flew about;
But Slavery and Oppressions, there lay the main,
And all to please the Image of the Rout,
For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain.
7.
Many fine Shows, and other pleasant Games,
Were offer'd after all, to please Spectators Eyes;
The chiefest of which was Londons fatal Flames;
May curses still attend those that mischief devise:
These are the Saints that plead Common-Good,
Our Persons to secure, but their Intent is plain,
To Crown us with Slavery, and Christen us in blood;
For Tory will still be a Rogue in Grain.
8.
God save the KING, and the true Royal Iames,
Monmouths Duke, and Tony, Englands Friend,
[Page 98]And all the honest Souls tho' I omit their Names;
May Mischief in earnest their Enemies attend:
But for those Rogues, that truths do oppose,
And for Romes Cause, have play'd their Shams in vain▪
Let Shame and Confusion be Plagues to all those,
That are such Tories and Rogues in Grain.

The INFORMERS LECTURE To His Sons, Instructing them in the My­steries of that Religion.

COme children, come, and learn your Fathers trade▪
Though all else fail, here's good advantage made▪
Come, come away, and learn my precepts all,
They'l make you rich, you'l get the Devil and all▪
Your very breath shall do't, my art is such,
No Lawyer with his Tongue gets half so much:
Time [...]'re till now did open such a door
To wealth, to those who had spent all before.
No trade like this, no gains can clearer be;
There's none have to glory more then we:
The gainfull'st trade comes short, the richest [...]ails,
Merchants themselves may here to us strike Sails.
The nimble Cut-purse always works in fears,
He ventures Neck and all, we but our Ears:
The Souldier ventures hard for Spoils, and so
Gets them by force, we don't strike a blow:
The High way men oft meet with many a Prey,
And yet we drive a richer trade then they:
[Page 99]For Jugler-like we need not bid them stand,
Blow but a blast, our Money's in our hand:
The Paritor, though he be near of kin,
In such a way of trading ne're has bin:
The pilfering Thief's in danger of the Stocks,
And Curtizans and Whores may fear the Pox;
This marres their Markets, makes them work in fear,
But in our Calling no such dangers are.
We need not fear, no dangers in our Eye,
At least if we can scape the Pillory:
And truly this we need not fear a jot,
Hundreds that have deserv'd it, have it not,
And if we had, for all their Mocks and Jears,
For twenty pound who would not loose his Ears?
We neither Preach nor Pray, we take no pains,
Preaching and Praying bravely us maintains:
They preach and pray, we swear, yet who gets more?
We thrive by swearing, preaching makes them poor.
We sail with tide, against the stream they row,
Swearing's the All-a-mode in fashion now.
Why should we labour? will not Swearing do?
That gets both Money and preferment too.
Some Swearers formerly did Money give,
And yet it is by Swearing that we Live.
And Perjury's but a small fault; what more?
And better too than we, have been forswore:
And what a Crime is this? is this so bad?
'Tis but turn Papist, Pardons may be had.
Whoever then is poor may thank himself,
Never did Mortals easier get their Wealth.
[Page 100]Learn lustily to swear, to damn and rant,
And then my Life for yours, you'l never want.
Though swear you must, all swearing will not serve;
Many that swear and curse, yet want and starve.
There is an Art in't all Men do not know,
And this I'le now to you (my Children) show,
Take my directions and you need not fear,
I'le shew you how, and when, and what to swear.
Mark when you swear, be sure to swear for gain,
'Tis those that swear for nought, that swear in vain▪
Be sure Inform, do this without dispute,
But yet don't meddle with forbidden Fruit:
Observe your Friends, strive not against the tide,
Oppose not those that are o'th rising side.
Church men in pow'r, what e're be their Offence,
Meddle not with, we will with them dispence.
For this should be the greatest of your care,
To know for whom and against whom you swear.
For if you should reform all things amiss,
It would undo you, meddle not with this.
A thousand Oaths you hear, and many a Lye,
Meddle not yet, you've better Fish to frye;
For swearing, whoring, drinking overmuch,
Are genteel sins, and these you must not touch;
'Tis not the Mark at which you ought to aim,
You're Hunts-men, mind not then so low a Game.
Though Papists, Atheists, God and Christ blaspheme,
If you Inform, you'l sail against the stream:
The Pocky-nose, and the red-pimpled Face,
Are not the Persons that you have in chase.
[Page 101]These little Sins are not worth reforming,
Will never bring a penny for Informing.
Fanaticks faults are of a deeper dye,
And therefore mind these well, for so do I;
Mind therefore their Offences, yet not all,
But chiefly that they do their Duty call.
Praying and Preaching, these are worse by far,
Than swearing, whoring, or blaspheming are:
For men may swear unto their dying day,
Before they be compell'd a Groat to pay:
Fanatick Preaching though ne're so precise,
Is more infectious far than Swearing is.
Adultery! no doubt Fanaticks love it,
And are as bad as we, if we co [...]ld prove it.
The mischief is, they sin as bad no doubt
In secret, but the Devil brings ours out.
If you should find them guilty, for your pains
Shame them enough, but this is all your gains.
But meddle not too much, such is our Fate,
Press them too hard, they will retalliate.
Be sure with Whores and Harlots you dispence,
For fear you give the worshipful offence.
The Sabbath-breakers Sins are less by far,
Than the offences of Tub-preachers are.
The Sodomites did many things amiss,
Yet ne're were guilty of such a sin as this.
These Meetings are more dangerous by far,
Than Bull-baits, Bear-baits or Cock-fightings are:
Stage-plays and Morrice-dances, Masks and Shows,
Wakes, May-games, Puppet-plays, and such as those
[Page 102]More harmless are; for all their Mocks and Jears
Are innocent, if but compar'd with theirs:
You need not such-like numerous meetings fear,
There's none but Loyal Subjects will be here.
Whore-house and Stews which Gallants do frequent,
Compar'd with these are far more innocent:
'Tis five or six crept in some hole to pray,
That Plot the ruine of the Monarchy;
Women and Children have been prov'd of late,
To be supplanters of the Church and State.
Some Country People, though yet out of sight,
Do put the King and Kingdome in a fright:
And those that neither Sword nor staff did bear,
Have made a Riot, put the World in fear.
Though France, and Spain, and Rome, and all conspire
Against our Land, our City set on Fire:
Threaten a Massacre, to spill our blood,
To bring in Popery on us like a Flood:
If half a score Fanaticks come to hear,
They'l put the Nation in a greater fear.
If silly Women, and some simple men
Get God but on their side, where are we then?
Keep them asunder, that they might not pray,
Or do your best to keep their God away;
For fear lest he should hear when they do cry,
And should Conventicle as well as they.
If they storm Heaven before us, 'tis a venture,
Whether they'l leave us any room to enter.
What though for King and Kingdom they do pray,
If we will Swear they mind it to destroy?
[Page 103]They Plot in secret, though we do not hear it,
We know it well enough, and we dare swear it.
The Papists are by far more innocent,
For all their Plots, have far less mischief meant.
What those call pity, we must confess
They prosecute but in a sowler dress.
Call it Rebellion, Schism, or what is bad,
Those that will kill a dog must say he's mad.
Say they are plotting and conspiring too,
And boldly Swear it, if that will not do,
What though your conscience give your tongue the lie,
Heed not your conscience for to lose thereby.
Praying and Preaching! this is worse by far,
Than all the crying Sins of Sodom are,
These sins are Acted o're and o're each day,
Yet no one yet his forty pound did pay:
The fault is greater, and the danger's more,
To teach five Sisters then to bed a score.
These are but tricks of Youth, yea harmless toyes,
Whatever God and Man and Conscience says.
Gods Laws condemn these sins say they: what then▪
We know not those, we know the Laws of Men.
Preaching and Praying, say men what they will,
You must regard, this water drives your Mill.
One Sermon brings more profit ten times over,
Than if you should a thousand Whores discover.
Fanatick-preachers bring more gain no doubt,
Than if you found so many Jesuits out.
Swearing and Whoring now is all in Fashion,
Preaching and Praying are the sins of th' Nation.
[Page 104]A Jesuit's a mild and Gentle man.
If we compare him with the Puritan:
Who say in Doctrine they with us agree,
And they are Protestants as well as we,
'Gainst Ceremonies only they contend,
Which do their queasy Stomacks so offend.
Well, be it so: e're they and we agree,
We'll make them swallow Knives as well as we▪
And though in secret corners now they sneak,
E're long we'll make them either bend or break.
We'll teach them shortly without much a do,
To bow to th' Altar and the Image too:
Who e're commands, we'll make them to obey,
The Bishops do't, and therefore why not they?
We'll bring them down betime, for there's no doubt
If times should change, they'l be the first stand out.
Those that the Bishops Laws do now withstand,
We'll not obey, no though the Pope command.
'Gainst Kings and Kingdoms sins they rage and roar,
When in their Tubs they care not who they goar.
In a right course therefore that you may sail,
Take these directions and you cannot fail.
Those men that will not pray and preach in jest,
Mark these, they are more dongerous then the Rest.
Those that act Sermons as a Stage-players part,
You need not fear them, they are sound at heart.
Those that against the Nations sins exclaim,
Are like to bring you the greatest gain.
He that doth rather chuse i'th' fire to burn,
Before he'll Atheist or a Papist turn;
[Page 105]This is a stubborn Rogue, and like to be
A Grand affronter of Authority.
He that doth bow, and bend, and stand, and sit,
And shift his sails still as the Wind doth flit,
Observe his Leaders, and his right hand-man,
Ne're fear, he'll never turn a Puritan.
But he that Serveth God for love, not mony,
Without Tradition or a Ceremony;
As the Apostles did in the days of yore,
Who never Cross did use or Surplice wore:
And those that in their Family would pray,
And not the Sabbath spend in sports and play:
Beware of those, for it is ten to one,
They're foully tainted, if not wholly gone:
As also those that unto Sermons gad,
Papists and Atheists are not half so bad:
Watch those, and they will fall into your trap,
And when they once are in, let none escape,
With Sermon, Prayer, and Fasting bait the Net,
And a full draught you will be sure to get.
But venture Swearers, Drunkards, never fear,
You need not watch them, they will ne're come there:
Taverns and Whore houses they haunt 'tis plain,
You'l meet them there, but nothing to your gain.
Having your prey before you, spare ye none,
And whensoe're you Swear, be sure Swear home.
I hate these Quaking-fellows, that are loath
To swear to purpose, these but spoil an Oath.
E're I'de loose twenty pound for want of reaching,
I would swear home, and swear that praying's preaching.
[Page 106]In doubtful cases you may safely Swear,
For twenty pound who would not loose an Ear?
And sometimes when you cannot come to see,
Swear those are present that are us'd to be.
March on brave Lads, fear not to drink and roar,
While the Fanatick's rich we'll ne're be poor.
We shall get mony from these rustick Boars,
To pay our debts, and to maintain our Whores,
Like Furies haunt Fanaticks to the Death,
Leave not while they have mony, life, or breath.
To drink, to drab, to whore, to lye, to swear,
It is the Garb that all our Tradesmen wear.
Hap'ly they'l call us Knaves, but 'tis no shame,
For any honest man to own his name.
O but our Names will rot they say! what then?
Let's dye like Beasts, so we may live like Men.
But God will plague us in a darksome Den,
I would we could be sure to 'scape till then.
They do their duty: Well, and so do we,
Our Wives and Children must maintained be.
But of all men, they say, we are the worst,
The Fox thrives best (they say) when he's most curst:
Many Informers beggars prove to be;
And many Tradesmen break, what's that to me?
With Stocks and Pillory they would us fear,
Many for Mony loose more than an Ear,
But ill got Goods third Heirs do seldom see!
We mean our own Executors to be.
Sons ply your work while you have ought to do,
For fear the Parliament prove Round-heads too:
[Page 107] [...]nd pray no Law in England may be made
[...]o help Fanaticks, or to spoil our trade.
[...] once the Papists get the upper hand,
[...]ur trade will mend, though other trades should stand,
[...] this succeed (my Sons) let's never fear,
[...]hey shall to Mass, as well as Common-prayer.
[...]an-while we'll let them can [...], we'll sing and roar,
[...]nd with their Money drink, and drab, and whore.

An ELEGY upon Marsh, A Publick Sworn INFORMER against Protestant Religious Meetings in the City of LONDON, who Dyed very mi­serably in the Prison of the Compter. Ulter a Tergo Deus.

GO set Scotch Bag-Pipes to the briskest Notes,
But let the Singing-men rend all their Throats,
Hang Tyburn round with Blacks, and let Ketch squeeze
His Eyes to Tears having thus lost his Fees;
My self (like a young Widdow) fain would cry,
But like her too, I know not how, nor why;
Muse! get an Onion quickly, or else Woo
Some Irish Poet for a Ha-la-loo;
Oh Hone! Oh Hone! tell us what didst thou ail
Thus to trappan thy self into a Goal?
[Page 108]Thou hadst a stout protection, and 'tis said
A lumping Pension for good service paid:
Some bribes thou got'st, and many a Penalty
Was due we trow, and why then wouldst thou dye?
Thy Cloven-footed Masters works not done,
Thou shouldst have Ruin'd thousands ere thoud'st gone▪
Thou shouldst have made each Nonconformist bow,
And left them all as poor as thou wert now;
Then mounted on State with solemn pride,
Thou might'st to Hell in guilded Chariot ride:
Been Pluto's Vice-Roy, and preferred more
Than Iudas, or thy brethren all before.
But now alass! thou scarce can get i'th end
To be the Groom o'th Close-stool Chamber to the Fiend▪
But 'tis in vain thus to Expostulate,
For poor Informers warrant's out of date;
The Man of Gath is fal'n that did so stickle,
And swore to confound each Conventicle;
Grim Death hath by a seizure snatcht him hence,
For to receive his dear-earn'd Recompence:
Follow the scent, and from the Stygian Lake,
Fit Junk for such a wretched Subject take;
Black as his Trade let every Line appear,
And each Ear tingle his sad Fate shall hear,
Not that I am of that Presumptious fry,
Whose sawcy Fingers pick-lock Destiny,
Who snatcht Fates-book, and furiously transpose,
To Judgments all misfortunes of their Foes;
Vertue may be unhappy, and sometimes
Success here waits upon the worst of crimes,
[Page 109] [...]t is another day, a clearer Light
[...]ust set all these seeming disorders right;
[...]et must we grant that Heaven does now and then
[...]isibly punish Irreligious Men,
[...]nd against none its Arrows oftner fly
[...]han these sworn Enemies to Piety,
[...] Per [...]ecuting Spirit never yet
[...]ut in a Cloud of shame and sorrow set,
[...]ust God! how equal are thy punishments
[...]hus blasting base designs with sad events;
[...]hough Crafty in self woven Nets is wrapt
[...]nd in the Pit he digg'd for others, trapt,
[...]ark how the Ravens and the Scre [...]ch-Owls cries
[...]ith frightful Ecchoes chaunt his obsequies.
Whether he's gone now Dead, I shall not say,
[...]ut whilst alive, he took the broader way;
[...] Pythegorean Tenets are not flams,
[...]e's grown a Woolf by this, and worries Lambs.

An Epitaph.

Stay Reader! and Piss here, for it is said
[...]nder this Dirt there's an Informer laid,
[...]f Heaven be pleas'd when Mortals cease from Sin,
[...]nd Hell be pleas'd when Villains enter in,
[...]f Earth be pleas'd when it entombs a Knave,
[...]ure all are pleas'd, for Marsh's in his Grave.

On Liberty of Conscience

By Dr. WILD.
NO, not one word, can I of this great Deed,
In Merlin, or Old Mother Shipton read!
Old Tuburn take those Tychobrahe Imp [...],
Astrologers, who would be counted Pimps
To the Amorous Planets; they the Minuit know,
When Iove did Cuckhold poor Amphitryo,
Ken Mars, and made Venus wink and glances,
Their close Conjunctions, and mid-night Dances,
When costive Saturn goes to Stool, and vile
Thief Mercury doth pick his Fob the while:
When Lady Luna leaks, and makes her man
Throw't out of Window into th' Ocean.
More subtle than the Excise-men here below,
What's spent in every Sign in Heaven they know;
Cunning Intelligencers, they will not miss
To tell us next year the success of this;
They correspond with Dutch and English Star,
As one once did with CHARLES and Oliver.
The Bankers might have, had they to them gone,
What Planet Govern'd the Exchequer, known.
Old Lilly, though he did not love to make
Any words on't, saw the English take
Five of the Smyrna Fleet, and if the Sign
Had been Aquarius, then they had made them Nine
[Page 111]When Sagitarus took his aim to shoot
At Bishop Cosin, he spyed him no doubt;
And with such force the winged Arrow flew,
Instead of one Church Stagg he killed two,
Gloucester and Durham when he espy'd,
Let Lean and Fat go together he cry'd.
Well Wille Lille, thou knew'st all this as well
As I, and yet would'st not their Lordships tell.
I know thy Plea too, and must it allow,
PRELATES should know as much of Heaven as thou:
But now Friend William since it's done and past,
Pray thee, give us Phanaticks but one cast,
What thou foresaw'st of March the Fifteenth Last;
When swift and suddain as the Angels flye,
Th' Declaration for Conscience Liberty;
When things of Heaven burst from the Royal-breast,
More fragrant than the spices of the East.
I know in next years Almanack thou'st write,
Thou saw' [...]t the King and Council over-night,
Before that morn, all sit in Heaven as plain
To be discern'd, as if 'twere Charles's Wain,
Great B. great L. and two great AA's were chief
Under great CHARLES to give poor Fan's relief▪
Thou sawest Lord Arlington ordain the man
To be the first Lay-Metropolitan.
Thou saw'st him give induction to a Spittle,
And constitute our brother TOM-DOE-LITTLE.
In the Bears paw, and the Bulls right Eye,
Some Detriment to Priests thou didst espye;
[Page 112]And though by Sol in Libra thou didst know
Whi [...]h way the scale of policy would go;
Yet Mercury in Aries did decree,
That Wool and Lamb should still Conformists be.
But hark-you Will, Star-poching is not fair;
Had you amongst the Stars found this March-Hare,
Bred of that [...]usty Puss the Good Old Cause,
Religion rescued from Informing Laws;
You should have yelpt aloud, hanging's the end,
By Huntsmens Rule, of Hounds that will not spend,
Be gone thou and thy canting Tribe, be gone;
Go tell thy destiny to fools or none:
Kings Hearts and Councils are to deep for thee,
And for thy Stars and Doemons scrutinie.
King CHARLES Return was much above thy skill [...]
To fumble out, as 'twas against thy will,
From him who can the hearts of Kings inspire,
Not from the Planets, came that sacred Fire
Of Soveraign Love, which burst into a Flame;
From God and from the King alone it came.

To the KING.

SO great, so universal, and so free!
This was too much great CHARLES, except for Thee,
For any King to give a Subject hope:
To do thus like Thee, would undo the Pope.
Yea, tho his Vassals should their wealth combine,
To buy Indulg [...]nce half so large as Thine;
[Page 113]No, if they should not only kiss his Toe,
But Clement's Podex, he'd not let them goe.
Whil'st Thou, to's Shame, Thy immortal Glory,
Hast freed All-Souls from reall Purgatory;
And given All-Saints in Heav'n new Joys, to see
Their Friends in England keep a [...].
Suspect them not, Great Sir, nor think the worse;
For sudden Joys, like Grief, con [...]ound at fi [...]st,
The Splendor of Your Favour was so bright,
That yet it dazles, and o'rewhelms our Sight.
Drunk with her Cups, my Muse did nothing find▪.
And until now, her Feet she could not find.
Greediness make, Prophaness i'th' first place;
Hungry Men fill their Bellies, then say Grace.
We wou'd make Bone-fires, but that we do fea [...]
Name of Incendiaries we may hear.
We wou'd have Musick too, but 'twill not do,
For all the Fidlers are Conformists too,
Nor can we ring, the angry Churchman Swears,
(By the King's leave) the Bells and Ropes are theirs▪
And let 'em take 'em, for our tongue, shall sing
Your Honour louder than their Clappers Ring.
Nay, if they will not at this Grace repine,
We'l dress the Vineyard, they shall drink the Wine▪
Their Church shall be the Mother, ours the Nurse▪
Peter shall Preach, Iudas shall bear the Purse,
No Bishops, Parsons, Vicars, Cur [...]tes, we,
But only Ministers desire to be.
We [...]l preach in Sackcloth, they shall Read in Silk.
We'l Feed the Flock, and let them take the Mil [...]ust:
[Page 114]Let but the Black-birds sing in bushes cold,
And may the Iack-Daws still the Steeples hold.
We'l be the Fee [...], the Back, and [...]ands, and they
Shall be the Belly, and devour the Prey,
The Tythe-pigg shall be theirs, we'l turn the Spit,
We'l bear the Cross, they only Sign with it.
But if the Patriarchs shall envy show
To see their Younger-Brother Ioseph go
In Coat of divers colours, and shall fall
To rend it, 'cause it's not Canonical:
Then may they find him turn a Dreamer too;
And live themselves to see his D [...]eam come true.
May rather they and we together joyn
In all what each can; but they have the Coyn,
With Prayers and Tears such Service much avail:
With Tears to swell your Seas, with Prayers your Sails;
And with Men too, from both our Parties; such
I'm sure we have, can cheat, or beat, the Dutch.
A Thousand Quakers, Sir, our side can spare;
Nay, two or three, for they great breeders are.
The Church can match us too with Jovial Sirs,
Informers, Singing-men and Paraters.
Let the King try, set these upon the Decks
Together, they will Dutch or Devil Vex.
Their Breath will mischief far beyond a Gun,
And if you lose them, you'l not be undone.
Accept dread Sir, and pardon this coarse Paper,
Your License 'twas made this poor Poet caper.

THE CHARACTER OF A True English-Man.

THe free-born English, generous and wise,
Hate Chains; but do not Government de [...]pise;
Rights of the Crown, Tribute and Taxes, they
When lawfully exacted, freely pay.
Force they abhor, and wrongs they scorn to bear,
More guided by their Judgment than their Fear,
Justice with them was never held severe.
There, Pow'r by Tyranny was never got,
Laws might perhaps enslave them▪ Force cannot.
Kings are less safe in their unbounded Will,
Joyn'd with the wretched Pow'r of doing Ill.
Forsaken most, when they're most absolute;
Laws Guard the Man, and only bind the brute.
To force that Guard with its worst Foe to joyn,
Can never be a prudent Kings Design,
What Prince would change to be a Cataline?
Break his own Laws, shake the unquestion'd Throne,
Conspire with Vassals to usurp his own!
Let France grow proud beneath the Tyrant's Lust,
Whilst the rackt People crawl, and lick the Dust:
[Page 116]The mighty Genius of this Isle disdains
Both High-shoon Slavery, and Golden Chains.
England to [...]ervile Yoke could never bow;
What Conquerors ne're presum'd, who dares do now?
In vain your Holiness does rack your Brain,
No Son of yours that happy Isle can gain:
Arm'd with blest Bibles, and undated Law,
They guard themselves, and keep the World in awe:
Whilst CHARLES Survives, and Parliaments can Sit,
They scorn your Tories Swords, and Iesuits Wit.

ABHORRERS ABHOR'D.

ABhorr'd Abhorrers, horribly Abhorr'd!
Monsters more base than Africk can afford?
What? Not Petition to our Sovereign Lord,
That Parliaments might sit, and save the KING
And Kingdom too, from those that both would bring
To Slavery; first Lawless Chains at Home,
And next intollerable Yokes from Rome?
Be gone ye Fops to France, and there enslave
Your selves, and Spurious off-spring; for a Knave
Is fit t'en [...]ender Vassals; but too brave
Is this Rich Isle, which only owneth those,
That Popish Bondage do resolve t' oppose:
Was't thou in England born, and [...] born Free?
Thou profane Esan [...] Nay more vile than He;
[Page 117]To sell thy Birthright to the French and Pope,
Where all the Acquisition thou could'st Hope
Was wooden-shooes; Fire, Fagot, and a Rope?
Let Tyburn take thee, and thy fellow Slaves,
And all detesting and Abhoring Knaves.
Then CHARLES lives sa [...]e, and quickly may become
The Head of [...]ll Reformed Christendome:
S [...]ure the [...]elgick fears, and ours at Home.
Blast [...] -de-Luces, and the Keys of Rome.
[...] after God, to him our thanks we pay,
For this (if but well-us'd) sure healing day;
That our gr [...]t Senate sits, whose joynt Accord
Does Vote ABHORRERS all to be Abhorr'd.

To the Parliament.

HAil, Glorious Senate, welcom as the day
To wearied Pilgrims that have lost their way,
Night-Mare'd by Goblins, and long led astray.
Welcom! as Liberty to Al [...]ier-Slaves;
As Gold to Courtiers, or Pardons to Knaves.
The half-dead Genius of our trembling Isle
At your Approach revives into a Smile:
Each drooping Protestant begins look Gray,
And dull October Rivals sprightly May.
By your Sage Councels we at once become
A Match for haughty France and treacherous Rome:
But first subdue the Monsters here at Home▪
[Page 118]Monsters! that would our Sacred Faith and Laws
Or'e-turn, and in their never sa [...]iate Maws
Swallow (like Egypt's Vermin) each green thing,
Enslave our Persons, and destroy our King;
That seek to strike out both our Eyes, and still
Confine (for sport) our Sampsons to their Mill.
Prevent those dire designs, Dispel our Fears,
Blast the Plot at the Root, and by your Cares
Secure both us, and our yet unborn Heirs.
May Heavens Blessing Crown all your Debates
(On which depend more than three Kingdoms Fates.)
May your blest Union calm out jarring Notes,
And Publick-Good give Birth to all the Votes,
From each true English Heart these Vows are sent,
Long live our King, Long sit our Parliament.

A short Reply to Absalon and Achitophel.

IN pious times when Poets were well bang'd
For sawcy Satyr, and for Sham-Plots hang'd,
A Learned Bard, that long commanded had
The trembling Stage in Chief, at last run mad,
And Swore and tore and ranted at no rate.
Apollo and his Muses in debate
What to do with him, one cry'd, let him Blood,
That says another, will do little good;
His brains infected sure, under his Nose
We'le burn some Feathers of Peru, who knows
But that may bring him to himself again?
[Page 119]Ay, for some time says Clyo; she was more
For Opiates, others for Hell [...]bore.
Apollo having heard all they could say,
Rose up and thankt them said, he'd try away
He hop'd would do, then call'd a Noble Friend
Well verst in Men, and beg'd of him to spend
Some time and pains upon this wretch, which he,
Agreeing to, went presently to work,
Open'd his head, saw where the Maggots lurk,
Took many of them out, put them in Sut,
Then Added Mercury and Nitre to't,
Mixt and infus'd them well, and after all,
Distil'd them in a Limbeck Comical,
And drew a Spirit very Soveraign,
For those are troubled with the fits o'th' Brain,
And gave our Poets some, all he could make
The peevish, Squeamish, self-wil'd Coxcomb take,
It did him good and cur'd him of those Fits:
But 'twas too little to restore his Wits:
For since he has gin o're to Plague the Stage
With the effects of his Poetick rage,
Like a mad Dog he runs about the Streets,
Snarling and Biting every one he meets.
The other day he met our Royal CHARLES,
And his two Mistresses, and at them Snarles.
Then falls upon the Ministers of State
Treats them all A-la-mode de Billingsga [...]e:
But most of all, the glory of our gown,
He must be bark't at, Drivil'd, pist upon.
He whose soft tongue had charmes enough t'asswage
The Tygers fierceness, could not scape the rage
[Page 120]Of this same whif [...]ing Cur; poor Cerberous,
That taught the Rogue to bark, was serv'd just thus.
This Vipers brood, contrary to all Laws,
The torn out Entrails of his Parent knaws.
He gives no quarter, spairs no friend, nor foe,
And where he once gets hold, never lets go
Until he breakes a Tooth, which he hath done
So oft of late that he hath few or none
Left in his mouth. Nay which is worst of all
On his Physitian he does always fall,
And find him out where e're he is, and bawl
Eternally, taking in Evil part
What he good man did by the rules of Art,
And for his good, assisted by a Set
Of the most able Le [...]ches he could get;
Apo [...]lo vext to see there was no more
E [...]fect of Medicine, bid his Friend give o're,
And sent some Chirurgions to him to anoint
The Carcase of the whelp in every Joynt
With [...] of Crab-tree, than which nothing [...]etches
The itching Venome out of Scribling Wretches
Better or sooner, but I know not how
It came to pa [...], w [...]th him it would not do.
For [...]ince his being anointed, he is [...]un
Y [...]lp [...]ng with Tow [...]er up and down the Town,
And crying out against an Absalon
And an Achitop [...]el. The Currs had got
Between them in their Mouths a new Sh [...]-Plot,
The Twentieth of the Kings, [...]me say indeed
It is the same that Mother [...] hid,
[Page 121]Deep in the Meal-tub, only new lick't o're
A [...]d brought to better shape by half a score
Of [...]rish Mongrels, newly fetcht from thence,
The best in En [...]land at an Evidence.
A little bribe will make them swear devoutly,
They're much more famous for their swearing stoutly,
Then for their fighting so, this kind of Cattel
Are better far at Roguery than Battel,
An Irish man's Antiwood-cock, cares
To venture nothing but his head and Ears.
This Copper co [...]n will never with us pass,
It looks so scurvily, nay it smells of Brass;
How could you think this would be currant here,
That is not so at home? 'Tis cry'd down there:
What then shall we do now; saith you had best
Try Scotland next, now it hath past the Test;
Come hither my Dog Towser, come, for I
A new Experiment intend to try,
I'le have thee worm'd, hold out thy Venom'd Tongue,
What a huge Worm is here? 'Tis an Inch Long,
And of the Jebusite smells very strong,
If this won't do thou shalt be fairly hung.

Oliver Cromwels Ghost.

By Doctor Wild.
ROws'd from Infernal Caverns void of Light,
Where Traytors Souls keep an Eternal Night:
Through the Earths friendly Pores at last I come
To view the Fate of Mangled Christendome,
Treason and Blood, Ruin and Usurpation,
Deceit, Hypocrifie, and Devastation;
Envy, Ambition, and untam'd desire,
Still to gain more, still to be mounted higher:
Wars, Janglings, Murders, and a Thousand more
Vices like these, you know were heretofore.
The only grateful Bantlings, which could find,
A kind Reception in my gloomy mind—
—But now alas I'm chang'd—the Pondrous guilt
Of Treason, and the Sacred blood I spilt;
Those crouds of Loyal-Subjects I made groan,
Under pretence of strict Religion,
When I my self, to speak the Truth, had none:
Too weighty for my strugling Soul did grow,
And prest it downwards to the shades below,
[Page 123]Where it these twenty years has Silent lain,
[...]ormented with Variety of pain,
[...]oo great for fleshly Mortals to sustain.
No [...] h [...]d it bu [...]g'd as yet—but that the Fame
Of [...], Conspiracies, and Murders came
[...] the Infernal Gates so fast, that I,
[...] others good, forgot my misery:
[...] whilst the busie Daemons were Imploy'd
[...]n culling out a bloody Regicide,
[...]ilkt my Keeper, and with wondrous pain,
Once more I mount my Native Soyl again;
Where to my Grief, more Villan [...]es I view,
Than Heav'n e're Pardon'd, or than Hell e're knew.
Since Lucifer's like Romes Destructive Pride,
Both Damn'd himself, and all his Imps beside:
Though old in Artful Wickedness I be,
Yet Rome, I now Resign the Wall to thee;
Thou in this single Plot, hast now done more
Than Mankind, helpt by Hell, could do before.
What! was thy swell'd Ambition grown so wide,
That nought but Kings could satisfie thy Pride?
Must Monarchs, whom the Heav'n it self do's prize,
Now become Morsels for thy gaping Vice.
Methought, though hot with Gluttony thou burn,
A Pious Justice might have serv'd thy turn;
Especially when, (to con [...]ent you more)
Spitted on's Sword, and Pickled in his Gore;
But now your aim we better understand,
He was the Whet—you gap'd for all the Land.
[Page 124]Strange Cormorant! that in her monstrous Breast,
Could at one meal three butcher'd Lands digest.
Ye Powers! I thought my Countries Innocence,
(When in fierce Whirlwind) you had born me hence)
And by the Pow'r of your most just command,
Restor'd the Scepter to the owners hand)
Would have sufficient bin to Wall you free
From the Ass [...]ults of su [...]h an Enemy.
I little thought, when last I took my leave,
And sadly entred my unwelcome Grave,
That e're the Porphry Idol could command
So great a Friendship in our Native Land;
As by that means to hope to circumvent,
With black design both King and Government.
But yet take heed ye Romish Idiots,
That have a hand in these most Hellish Plots;
Who by your base contrivance, hope to bring
Ruin to Nations, Death unto a King.
Beware, I say, by my Example do,
For there's a God above does all things view:
Tho wrapt in Clouds amongst the Skies he dwells,
Yet he discerns you in your closest Cells;
See's your Contrivances, and whilst you poor
Concei [...]ed Traytors think your selves secure,
He your Clande [...]tine Plots does plainly view,
And will divulge them and their Actors too.
Trust my Experience, one who if you will
Believe, what all the World says of him still,
Had no small share of Pride, Ambition, Wit,
Courage and Conduct too to mannage it.
[Page 125]By which I wrought my Curst designs so high,
I could have match'd my Brewers Family.
With the best Blood in Brittain. Right or wrong,
Or Life or Death, attend [...]d on my Tongue:
All the three Kingdoms truckled to my Will—
But what of this?—I was a Traytor still.
Nay, so intemperate was my folly grown,
I boldly offer'd at the Sacred Crown;
Which though I mist,—yet by a holy Cheat,
At last I gain'd to fill the tott'ring Seat;
And made ten Thousand Souldiers Arm'd appear
With Roaring Guns to plead my Title there.
Not doubting but that happy Seat should be
Transfer'd from me to my Posterity.
But all was insignificant, when Death
Unkindly Robb'd me of beloved breath:
My Titles all forsook me, and my Race,
Instead of them, Inherrit my disgrace.
This is the Fate of Traytors here; but know,
That could you think what they endure below,
I'm sure you would be Loyal; but the Pope
By prating Jesuits, has so rais'd your hope,
That I in vain those tortures now should tell,
You'l know them when I meet you there—
Farewel.
R. W. D. D.

Upon Nothing.

By the E. of R.
NOthing thou Elder Brother, Eve to shade,
Thou had'st a being e're the World was mad [...]
Well fixt alone, of ending not afraid.
E're Time and Place were, Time and Place were no [...]
When primitive Nothing, Something strait begot,
Then all proceeded from the great united What!
Something, the General Attribute of all,
Sever'd from Thee its sole Original,
Into thy boundless Self must undistinguisht fall.
Yet Something, did thy Nothing Power comman [...]
And from thy Fruitful Emptinesses Hand
Snatch Men, Beasts, Birds, Fire, Water, Air, and La [...]
Matter, the wicked'st Off spring of thy Race,
By Form assisted, flew from thy Embrace,
And Rebel Life obscur'd thy Reverend Face.
With Form and matter, Time and Place did joy [...]
Body, thy Foe, with these did Leagues combine,
To spoil thy Peaceful Reign, and Ruin all they Lin [...]
But Turn-Coat Time assists the Foe in vain,
And bribed by Thee, destroys their short Lived Reig [...]
And to thy hungry Womb drives back the Slaves aga [...]
Thy Mysteries are hid from Laick Eyes,
And the Divine alone by Warrant pries
Into thy bosome, where thy Truth in private lies.
[Page 127]Yet this of Thee, the Wife may truly say,
Thou from the Virtuous, nothing takes away;
And to be part of Thee, the Wicked wisely Pray.
Great Negative! how vainly would the Wise
Enquire, Design, Distinguish, Teach, Devise,
Did'st not thou stand to point their blind Philosophies.
Is, or is not, the two great Ends of Fate,
Of True or False, the Subject of debate,
That perfects or destroys designs of State.
When they have wrackt the Politicians breast,
Within thy bosome most securely Rest,
Reduc'd to Thee are least, tho safe and best.
But Nothing, why doth Something still permit,
That sacred Monarchs should at Council set
With Persons thought, at best, for Nothing sit?
Whilst weighty Something, modestly abstains
From Princes Courts, and from the States-mans brains,
And nothing there like stately Nothing Reigns.
Nothing, that dwells with Fools, in grave disguise,
For whom they Rever'd Forms and Shapes devise,
Lawn Sleeves, and Furrs, and Gowns, when they look Wife.
French Truth, Dutch Prowess, British Policy,
Hybernian Learning, Scoth Civility,
Spaniards Dispatch, Danes Wit are seen in Thee.

On Bow-Church and Steeple. Or a Second Poem upon Nothing!

LOok how the Country-Hobbs with wonder flock
To see the City-crest, turn'd Weather-cock!
Which with ea [...]h shifting Gale, veres too and [...]ro;
London has now got twelve strings to her Bow!
The Wind's South-East, and strait the Dragon russels
His brazen wings to court the breeze from Brussels!
The Wind's at North! and now his hissing Fork,
Whirles round, to meet a flattering gale from York!
Boxing the Compass, with each freshing Gale,
But still to London turns his threatning Tail.
But stay what's there; I spy a stranger thing;
Our Red-cross brooded by the Dragons wing!
The wing is warm, but O! beware the sting!
Poor English-Cross, expos'd to winds and weathers,
[...]orc't to seek shelter in the Dragons feathers!
Ne're had old Rome so rare a piece to brag on,
A Temple built to great Bell, and the Dragon!
Whilst yet undaunted Protestants, dare hope,
They that will worship Bell▪ shall wear the Rope,
O how our English Chronicles will shine!
Burnt, sixty six; Rebuilt, in seventy nine,
When Iacob Hall on his High Rope shews tricks,
The Dragon flutters; the Lord-Mayors Horse kicks;
The Cheapside-crowds, and Pageants scarcely know
Which most t'admire, Hall, Hobby-Horse, or Bow;
[Page 129]But what mad [...] set your Zealo [...] fire?
(Grave Citizens!) to [...] Spire
On Sea-coal Basis? which will sooner yield
Matter to Burn a Temple, than to Build!
What the Coals build, the [...] bury! no Men
Of Wisdom, but would dread the threatning Omen!
But say (Proud Dragon!) now prefe [...]r'd so High,
What Marvels from that [...]?
[...]
Of, sometimes Rev'rend, now Regenerate, Fauls,
Thy envious Eyes, such Glories cannot brook,
But as the Devil once over Lincoln▪ look:
And envies Poyson, will thy Bowels Tear
Sooner than Daniel's Dose, of [...], and Hair!
Then Eastward, to avoid that wounding [...]ight,
Thy Glaring Eyes upon the [...], light.
Adorn'd with Monstrous forms to clear the scope,
How much thou art out-dragon'd by the Pope.
Ah fools! to dress a Monument of woe
In whistling Sil [...]s, that should in Sac [...]loth, go!
Nay strangely wise, our Senators appear
To build That, and a Bedlam in a year,
That if the Mum-glass crack, they may inherit
An Hospital becoming their great merit!
To Royal Westminster, next turn thine eye;
Perhaps a Parliament thou mayst es [...]y,
Dragons of old gave Oracles at Rome;
Then Prophesie, their Day, their Date, and Doom!
And if thy Visual Ray can reach the Main;
Tell's when the Duke, new gone, returns again!
Facing abont; next view our Guildhall well,
Where Revere [...] Fox-furrs charm'd by po [...]ent spell
Of Elephants, (turn'd wrong side outward) dare
Applaud the Plays; and yet hiss our the Player:
Player! whose wise [...]eal for City, Country, King,
Shall to all points of the wide Compa [...]s ring
Whilst B [...]w has Bells, or [...] Thames a Spring!
[Page 130]Thy Roving Eye perhaps from [...]ague may send's
How the New League, has made Old Foes, New Friends:
But let substantial witness, Credence give it,
Or Ne're believe me, if the House believe it!
If true, I fear too late! France at one sup,
(Like Pearl [...] dissolv'd in Cloepatra's Cup)
Trade, Empire, Neitherlands has swallowed up!
But heark! The Dragon speaks from Brazen Mouth,
Whose words, though wind, are spoken in Good south!
To you of Ratling [...]ame, and great esteem;
The higher placed, the less you ought to seem!
To you of Noble Souls, and Gallant Minds,
Learn to outface (with me) the Huffing winds!
To tim'rous feeble Spirits, that live beneath;
Learn not of me to turn with every breath!
To those who like (Camelions) live on Air;
Popular Praise is thin Consumptive fare!
To you who Steeple upon Steeple set,
Cut my Cocks-comb, if e're to Heaven you get.

The Conclusion.

I.
LEt Gods un-erring Providence protect
Great CHARLES in's Throne, and all his ways direct▪
Let all His Foes be scatter'd like the Dust;
And let that Sacred Trust,
(Deriv'd from God alone)
Make a lasting and a happy Throne.
II.
Let all State-Traytors Plots, be left i'th' Lurch,
That hate our Soveraign, and would ruin our Church.
May's Royal Temples wear the Imperial Crown,
Till Englands Foes come down,
With vengeance from that seat
Usurpt to ruin us, and make them great.
FINIS.

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