Times Whirligig▪ OR, The Blew-new-made-Gentleman mounted.
Take him Marshall.
Heu quantum mutatus ab illo!
Written by a faithfull Servant and true Lover of his Countrey, HUM. WILLIS, Esquire.
⟨feb: 9 th 1646⟩ Printed in the Yeare, 1647.
To all true Hearts.
Deare Soules,
TO let you know that one as truely now
Forgets himselfe, as he remembers you,
I heare present you with I know not what,
To doe you service.—
What though some rotten Upstart swell, what then?
So you take't friendly, what care I for them.
But would you know
this-Sir that's h
[...]re intended.
His titles what, and whence he is descended;
Then know they call this Gent. sprung from a Fig,
The blew-new-made one and Times Whirligig:
Titles sufficient to make him a flaunting,
And now-time-Gallant (tho true worth be wanting)
But that which workes in me the greatest marvell.
Is how beholding you are for his travell;
You above all the rest, nowfie upon it,
You he must serve though he look blewly on it;
And well the foole may so which comes to you,
In whom there's such antipathy to blew;
Yet if you but consider him the same,
That he deserves by playing of his Game,
And how he flourishes you'l judge the toole
Then by your leave to be more knave then foole;
How ere he be (brave Sirs) for that I know
You only are, were, must, and shall be so,
He comes to kisse your hands, and hopes that you
Will give him Quarter for a night or two,
And afterwards if so you thinke it fit
To burne him, doe, or teare him every bit,
Wishing poore
Englands Tyrants all so us'd,
That have so many honest men abus'd;
And that is all, and that is scarce enough,
For them or this drest up in such a stuffe.
Yours, and onely yours,
HUM. WILLIS.
This to the Rotten-hearted, Or, Englands Tormentors.
HAve at you Sirs, 'tis but a word or two,
And that's enough, if not too much for you;
You that pretend Religion, and why?
To make Religion cloake your villany;
You that pretend the publike good, but how?
Just as the Pigs that whine to sucke the Sow;
You men-devouring-beasts, you ne'r-be-good,
Will nothing please you but our all-hearts-blood?
No wonder that sweet
England seemes a hell,
When you sit Judges in our
Israel:
What e're you thinke, we think you mad or worse,
D'e hope to fatten still byth' peoples curse?
Foxes indeed fare best when wisht a rope,
But you'l unkennel'd be e're long wee hope:
And then (what then) 'twill be such sport, that O,
Acteons Dogges ne're us'd their Master so.
The Prologue.
I Write but what I cannot tell,
Nor care not much bee't ill or well;
then well or ill let't goe:
Who's quite undone, what needs he care?
What needes he feare to say or swears?
I thinke the Kingdomes so.
The World and I at variance are,
But why there's hapned such a jarre,
would you indeed know why?
Good Sir I have more wit then so,
Mad men and Fooles tell all they know,
and so you thinke may I.
What though I lately had a rout,
And that all-in did prove all-out,
yet wee won't fall to bate,
I have a tricke to meet with him,
And others too, as sure as Pym
e're met with
Straffords pate.
What though the World doe looke a-squint,
And peoples hearts prove perfect Flint,
when I entreat a boone;
What though she Grandees leave mee than,
When I have done what doe I can,
so I tread on the Moone▪
Nay what though one who bulwarkt all
Our huge high State when like to fall,
Brave little
Ned of Gloster,
Though hee such gallant things hath done,
So Caesar-like for men and some?
Yet he may end a loster.
What though a Tree or two ith' West
Doe over-top and spoile the rest,
Nay prethee say what the
[...]
Are they not high and mighty now,
Who dares, good Sir, then question how,
Or why it should bee so?
All this is nothing, nothing this,
If ten times more, 'twere but a pish,
To what I now could say,
Yet this is all I meane you now,
And 'tis enough I dare avow,
Of Prologue to the Play.
Times Whirligig, Or, The Blew-new-made-Gentleman mounted.
WHat Age is this? what times are now?
Vice states it so in each mans brow,
with thousands waiting on her,
Cloth'd all in silkes and Purple brave,
As if no honest man, but knave,
should ere againe have honour.
Whilst vertue (who's so heavenly sweet)
That blest are Kings if kisse her feet,
goes slighted up and downe;
She that laments poore
Englands woes,
See, see, how naked there she goes,
kikt at by every Clowne.
An honest man! a thing most rare,
Or Gentleman that's Debonaire,
to live hath much adoe;
Then what one say'd, I now avow,
Tis hard not to write Satyrs now,
I thinke you think so too.
A Gentleman good Sir, alacke,
What's that? a last yeares Almanack,
I thought so by his looke,
A foolish, uselesse, worthlesse thing,
A cast-by now just as the King,
whom Upstarts cannot brooke.
No, no, we have a people now,
Blew-apron-blades, men that know how
all Nations fill with wonder,
Who'r skill'd in State-affaires so well,
Each man's another Machivell,
to keep the Gentry under.
Religion's made a Tennis-Ball,
For every foole to play withall,
both which we have so many,
That we disputed have so long,
'Bout which is right, and which is wrong,
till we have hardly any.
The Covenant cry'd up so just,
That all that's honest take it must,
or else no Brethren seemed,
Is now by those that prest it most,
Cry'd down as fast in every coast,
and Antichristian deemed.
Some six yeares since the bonny
Scot
An honest man was, was he not?
and his Religion pure;
But now farewell to him I troe,
Hee's false, and his Religion's so,
wee nether can endure.
Some would forsooth a King, they say,
And some at King cryes fie away,
and then cocks up a Beaver;
Yea, some a piece of King would have,
But titular, and then 'twere brave,
so they might rule for ever.
I now have liv'd to see the day,
Wherein a Fig-man beares such sway,
that Knights dare scarce sit by him;
Yea, I have liv'd to see the houre,
In which a Clothier hath such power,
that Lords are glad to buy him.
Thus doe the froth of all the earth,
A spawne sprung from a dunghill birth,
now Prince it in our Land:
A people come the Lord knowes how,
Both Fame and namelesse till just now,
must every one command.
Mad
Robin-Round-head's made apace,
By using Countrey-men so base,
and
Goring to they say;
And what doe these Committee-men?
Don't they make Cavies now agen,
as fast for them I pray?
Kinde-hearted soules they are indeed,
O that we had more of the breed,
which take so mickle paine;
Spending their spirits day and night,
That they the Cavies may requite,
by turning all againe.
And that they will no quarrels picke,
What thinke you of
Bridgewater tricke,
what wonders there they did then?
They sure must all be Chronicled,
For knocking Country-men ith'head,
for doing as they bid them.
Ah me! what times, sad times are these,
Wherein such tadpole slaves with ease,
mount up and live respected?
When they that have done service more
Then ten of them, yea then ten score,
goe slighted and neglected.
Witnesse those many Gallant men,
That fought it out so stouly, when
the State was brought most loe,
Which now for their Arreares doe lye,
But not one groat can they come by,
though some a begging goe.
Yet such as have no service done,
Nor ever did one hazzard run
these warres I dare be sworne,
But lay for Offices in waite,
Aiming to get a great Estate,
get thousands in a morne.
The Peeres and honest hearts above,
Now see all this, but dare not move
the cause, because not Master;
For they to prove the City lover,
So long the staffe deliver'd over,
that now they cannot ba
[...]e her.
Then what is man to trust upon,
Who is so fond, so fickle gone,
so craz'd in's apprehension;
He's never well untill he be
Above his fellowes, though straight he
downe fall beyond demension.
And downe good God pluck all such downe,
That seem for Christ, but seek their owne,
where ere they come or goe;
But peace, no more, the rest is meant.
O that this long-long Parliament,
would rid us of our woe.
But Parliaments have done amisse
Themselves ere now, pray may not this?
then who'l cast anchor there;
Alas can men doe what they should,
Nay, would they doe it if they could?
a second Warre I feare.
A second Warre, How can that be?
Hath not the Parliament and wee
brought all we wisht to passe?
So long as
Scots and we agree,
And greatest Cavies forc't to flee,
who feares a Warre's an asse.
But why should we be so secure?
Sith God is just hee'l ne're endure,
things manag'd as you see;
Pride and oppression cry aloud,
They cry to Heaven, to Heaven for bloud,
and they shrewd sticklers be,
O then let King and Parliament,
Let all the Land now, now consent
to Peace, and flye from sinne,
Or God the Lord hath said he will,
Proud
England with worse judgements fill,
then ever yet hath bin.
What was't that beat the first alarms
In English hearts to take up armes,
I meane ith' well-affected?
Was't not our Church to purifie,
From all the dregs of Popery,
which had her so infected?
And this was well, and bravely done,
Had we gone on as we begun,
't had been a gallant Cure,
But for to thrust out one Church so,
and suffer twenty worse to grow,
this purge is not so pure.
And what was next the moving cause,
That made us rush even in the jawes
of death, with such delight?
Was't not lest arbitrary Power,
Should State and liberty devoure,
to slave off if wee might.
Sure this was it, and this was all,
These were the maine, the principall,
that made the honest fight;
And now that this accomplisht is,
Beyond what we could thinke or wish,
you sweetly them requite.
If we sometimes had from our Prince
A lash or two, what have we since?
indeed a world of favour;
Just as from
Rehoboam, when
One finger should be heavier then
the weight of all his Father.
How often promis'd (but still sool'd)
Were we, the Aegyptian taskers should
be punisht for oppression?
But whilst the Sheep hath any wooll,
Our Shepheards will be never full,
teares make but poore impression.
Then since that man's growne such a beast,
That
Home homini lupus est,
blest they who are unborne:
How ere let's sigh to God above,
One sigh may chance to get his love,
though men our teares doe scorne.
Sith things then run so retrograde,
And rather worse then better made,
what shall the people doe?
If Ship-money prov'd such a thing,
As made them strive so with a King,
d'e thinke they won't with you?
Come, come, there's yet such
English hearts,
That dare so boldly play their parts,
though you seeme
Caesar high;
That will their ancient Lawes maintaine,
And all their liberties regaine,
or else will bravely dye.
Yea those which stood so firmely fast
To you these times, from first to last,
those very men will doe it;
And if the best affected will,
What think you will the worst sit still?
Great Sirs, 'tis time look to it.
You honest-few at
Englands Helme,
Who stand for Christ and for the Realme,
without selfe-aimes or ends,
Rouze yet in time and looke about,
Thrust but the subtill Foxes our,
we yet may all be friends.
An undermining crue there are,
Mongst you and us, that speake us faire,
when all's but meer delusion,
Who Jesuited are so well,
That they will projects fetch from Hell,
but they'l bring all confusion.
O what an ague hath this Land,
Look how it shakes, how tottering stand,
how't pants for some Physitian;
Poore
Englands like, just in her growth,
Full ripe for birth, ne're to bring forth,
Pride scotnes her a Commission.
Hark how the people make their mone,
Old, young, rich, poore, hark how they grone
in every Town and City;
Brick they must make, poor soules, but how,
When you no straw will them allow,
you
Aegypt-brood-Committee.
In this distresse, great Sirs, we come,
Next God, to you, presuming some
of you doe grieve and wonder:
To you who Covenant will keepe,
With
Scots and us, though some dig deep,
to blow us all asunder.
'Tis but three things wee now desire,
Which grant, or
England is all fire,
three things we beg, no more,
And then, and if we perish, let
Our blood be on our owne heads set,
we'l quit you of the score.
For what though Bishops be our-worne,
And Common-Prayer-Bookes be torne,
and all Church-windowes broken;
Alas! what can all this make for you,
Even just as doth the Directory,
when nothing's done according?
This, this, 'tis makes the honest grone,
Gods Building goes so slowly on,
and
Sions friends neglected:
When they who Government despise,
And doe what's good in their owne eyes,
sprout up, and are protected.
Then if you will a blessing have,
From him that you and us must save,
if sav'd we
[...] be at all,
First settle things in Gods own House,
Else all you doe's not worth a Lowse,
your Hony'l prove but Gall.
The next, O that you would take oare,
To punish all what er'e they are,
that so abuse the King,
Who thinke till they can him disgrace,
By casting durt in's Royall Face,
they ne'r speake gallant thing.
Some call him Foole, some
Charles the wise
Then Witch-like egges the whites of eyes,
as if they did but jeere him;
Yet one more civill then the rest,
His throat would cut he did protest,
if he could e're come neere him.
But did he speake so damn'd a thing,
What kill his Prince, out hope't for King!
he did I know't for certaine;
Strange times I where in at one curst stro
[...]ke,
An upstart
Ashe would fell the Oake,
the Royall Oake of
Brittaine.
Another spake so of the King
As if some Tinker he had beene,
or one but sit to spurne;
The King, sayes he, alas what's that?
For's Crowne you I shortly Ice a Has
as mine is serve his tur
[...]e.
Nay, this faire Rout that so wounds him.
We see doth daringly begin
your selves now to disdaine;
Christ said it, and we needs must see't,
What measure we to others meet,
shall be return'd againe.
Then sure untill these muting Bird's,
Be punisht for King-wounding words,
how can be thinke you love him;
Come, come, 'tis not his sinnes alone,
'Tis ours as well makes
England groane,
then doe not too much move him.
The third and last if so you please
The Kingdome of a burden ease,
then which there ne'r was greater,
Then downe with all Committee men,
Though some of them goe up agen,
another way the better.
O if but these, these once were granted,
How would that bell-spu'd rout be daunted.
which so our ruine labour;
O how would all time Englishmen
Rejoyce to have their King agen,
and you their fellow-Neighbours.
But sure unlesse these three be mended,
Church setled, and the King desended,
and your oppressing cease,
Steere how you will, yet (by your leave)
You'l but your selves and us deceive,
we never shall have peace.
And now sith I these Lines have writ,
Some may perchance for lacke of wit,
suppose the discontented;
Or that I am not well affected,
Or that I think my selfe neglected,
and so my spleen have vented.
But God the Judge of all Man-kinde,
Doth know they wrong my honest minde.
this flowes from no such Fountaine;
For on my Mole hill I can play,
And dance as merry a Roundelay,
as any on his Mountaine.
I envie none that's honest, no,
Though some from shrubs to Cedars grow,
in yeeres but two or three,
Yea, if they were as high as
Pauls.
So they be honest hearted soules,
the better full
[...] me.
For such all such doel ove the King,
And Parliament as well as him,
and Covenant so cherish,
That it perform'd may be by all,
And so I trust in Christ it shall,
though all blasphemer perish.
And so He pray, and pray agen,
And so pray all true-hearted men,
Lord help, and then we care not;
See how false brethren rage and boyle,
Look how they thousands doe beguile,
by seeming what they no not.
But harke, what's that, I must no more,
Great Bulls of
Basan gin to roare.
and threaten me pell-mell;
Tush come, and welcome what come will,
Sith God's my God, and will be still,
I feare nor death nor shell.
FINIS.
Englands Petition [...] 74 Psalm.
ETernall God wily dose thou now export
Thy select people to the rage of these
That scorn thy Precepts, why seem'st thou to betray
Thy pasture Sheep to Tyrant Wolves a prey▪
Lord, Lord, have mercy, succour them with speed,
Who once by thee strom servitnde were freed;
O quench thy sury, with compassionate eye
Behold thy Sions dire calamity;
Great God arise, none can thy power with stand,
Destroy them who with sacrilegious hand
Defile thy Temples, and with ecchoes shall
Of Trumpets, thy most sacred places fill;
And to constrot thee in high nature they
Their strea
[...]ing Phsignes in thy Towers display,
Those stately
[...]
[...]re like Trees cast downe
With hideous noyse, and levell'd to the ground,
Nor can the doers so exquisutely carved,
From their unbridled fury be preserved:
The Sanctuary
[...] to thy
[...],
Is now polluted wit
[...]
[...] eve
[...]ti
[...]g flame,
And in their breasts they secretly decree,
To grave thy Name in close obscurity.
No miracles no
Omens now appeare
Of future joy, no Prophet can declare;
When, when thou wilt, most powerfull God, impose
A welcome period to our bitter woes:
How long wilt thou permit them to prophane
With horrid blasphemies, thy sacred Name;
Pluck out thy hidden
[...]rme Almighty God,
O let them know thy power, and feele thy Rod;
Thou our Protector wert of Ancient Time,
The world beheld thee still defending thine;
Thy beck impetuous billowes did divide,
Bayed with a glassie wall on either side,
Crushing the Dragons and Laviathan,
Which like a moving Ile surrowe the Maine;
From veyne of wounded Rock at thy command
Streames issue, and vast channels dry did stand;
The spangled nights are thine, thine are the dayes,
Thou dost adorn
Sol with refulgent rayes;
Thou dost vast
Neptunes watry Empire bound
With ne'r past limits, and the World surround
With brinish waves: Thine, thine, immortall King,
Is mellow Autumne, and the painted Spring;
The naked Winter's by thy power most great,
Were made a fiery Sommers scorching heat.
Forget not Lord their sinnes, O let thine eyes
See how they glory in their blasphemies;
Remember the afflictions of the poore,
Let not wild beasts thy Turtle chaste devoure:
O call to minde thy Covenant now, for we
In Cells obscure cannot preserved be;
Suppresse thine enemies that we may sing
The praises of our Sempiternall King;
Let not thy vengeance sleepe; O Lord arise,
Observe their crimes and our calamities.
The Farewell.
GLory bee to God above,
Peace to all which do him love,
this is all I bring;
Yet methinkes I up could flye,
To the Mountaines to the Skie,
onely this to sing.
Now can I those Times be
[...]te,
Why shan't I my friends salute,
and wing it now and then;
Feare not then you little Flocke,
Looke but on the bleeding Rocke,
't will all be well again.
Finis.