The most Renowned PRINCE RUPERT.
Printed Exactly to the Author's Original.
O That I could but Vote my self a Poet!
Or had the Legislative knack to do it!
Or like the Doctors Militant, could get
Dub'd at adventure Verser Banneret!
Or had I
Cacus trick, to make my Rhimes
Their own Antipodes, and track the Times.
Faces about, says the
Remonstrant spirit;
Allegiance is Malignant, Treason Merit:
Huntington-colt, that pos'd the sage Recorder,
Might be a Sturgeon now, and
pass by Order.
Had I but—'s gift, (that splay-mouth'd brother)
That declares one way, and yet means another:
Could I but write asquint; then (Sir) long since,
You had been sung,
A great and glorious Prince:
I had observ'd the language of the days;
Blasphem'd you, and then periwig'd the phrase
With
Humble service, and such other Fustian,
Bells which ring backward in this great combustion:
I had revil'd you, and without offence
Te
Literal, and
Equitable sence
Would make it good: when all fails that will do't,
(Sure that Distinction cleft the Devils foot)
This were my Dialect, would your Highness please
To read me but with Hebrew Spectacles;
Interpret counter, what is cross rehears'd:
Libels are Commendations when revers'd.
But you're inchanted, Sir, you're doubly free
From the great Guns and Squibbing Poety;
Whom neither
Bilbo nor Invention pierces,
Proof ev'n against th'Artillery of Verses.
Strange! that the Muses cannot wound your Mail;
If not their Art, yet let their Sex prevail.
At that known Leaguer where the bonny
Besses
Supply'd the Bowstrings with their twisted Tresses,
Your Spells could ne'r have fenc'd you, ev'ry Arrow
Had lanc'd your noble brest, and drunk the marrow:
For Beauty, like white Powder, makes no noise;
And yet the silent Hypocrite destroys,
Then use those Nunns of
Helicon with pity,
Lest
Wh—tell his Gossips of the City,
That you kill Women too, nay Maids, and such
Their
General want's
Militia to touch.
Impotent E—, is it not a shame
Our Commonwealth, like to a
Turkish Dame,
Should have an
Eunuch Guardian? May she be
Ravish'd by
Charles, rather then sav'd by thee.
But why, my Muse, like a Green-sickness-Girl,
Feedst thou on coals and dirt? a Gelding Earl
Gives no more relish to thy female pallat,
Than to that Ass did once the Thistle-sallat.
Then quit that barren Theme, and all at once
Thou and thy sisters, like bright
Amazons,
Give
Rupert an Alarum.
Rupert! one
Whose Name is Wit's Superfoetation:
Makes Fancy, like Eternity's round womb,
Unite all Valour, present, past, to come,
He, who the old Philos
[...]ohy controuls,
That voted down plurality of souls:
He breaths a Grand Committee; all that were
The wonders of their Age, constellate here.
And as the elder Sister Grow
[...] and Sence
(Souls paramount themselves) in Man commence
But faculty of Reasons Queen, no more
Are they to him, who were compleat before,
Ingredients of his Vertue. Thread the Beads
of
Caesar's acts, great
Pompey's, and the
Swede's:
And 'tis a Bracelet fit for
Rupert's hand,
By which that vast Triumvirate is span'd.
Here, here is Palmistry; here you may read
How long the world shall live, and when't shall bleed!
Whatever Man windes up, that
Rupert hath;
For Nature rais'd him on the Publike faith;
Pandora's brother, to make up whose store,
The gods were fain to run upon the score.
Such was the Painters
Brieve for
Venus's face,
Item, an eye from
Jane, a lip from
Grace.
Let
Isaac and his Citts slay off the plate
That tips their Antlers for the Calf of State;
Let the zeal-twanging nose that wants a ridge,
Snuffling devoutly, drop his silver bridge:
Yes, and the Gossip-spoon augment the sum,
Although poor
Caleb lose his Christendom:
Rupert outweighs that in his Sterling self,
Which their self-want pays in commuting pelf,
Pardon, great Sir; for that ignoble Crew
Gains, when made Bankrupt in the Scales with you.
As he who in his Character of Light
Stil'd it
God's
shadow, made it far more bright
By an Eclipse so glorious; light being dim,
And a dead nothing, when compar'd to him:
So 'tis Illustrious to be
Rupert's foil,
And a just Trophy to be made his spoil.
I'll pin my faith on the
Diurnal's sleeve
Hereafter, and the
Guild-Hall-Creed believe;
The Conquests which the Common Council hears
With their wide-listening mouth from greatest Peers
That ran away in triumph: such a foe
Can make them Victors in their overthrow,
Where Providence and Valour meet in one,
Courage so pois'd with Circumspection,
That he revives the quarrel once again,
Of the Souls throne, whether in Heart or Brain;
And leaves it a drawn Match: whose fervor can
Hatch him, whom Nature poach'd but half a man,
His Trumpet, like the Angel's at the last,
Makes the soul rise by a miraculous blast.
'Twas the mount
Atho
[...] carv'd i'th' shape of Man,
(As 'twas defin'd by th'
Macedonian)
Whose right hand should a populous Land contain;
The left should be a Chanel to the Main:
His Spirit might inform th'amphibious figure,
Yet strait-lac'd sweats for a Dominion bigger:
The terrour of whose Name can out of seven
(Like
Falstaff's Buckram men) make flie eleven,
Thus some grow rich by breaking: Vipers thus,
By being slain, are made more numerous.
No wonder they'll confess no loss of men;
For
Rupert knocks 'em, till they gig agen.
They fear the Giblets of his Train; they fear
Even his Dog, that four-legg'd
Cavalier.
He that devours the scraps which
Lunsford makes,
Whose Picture feeds upon a childe in Steaks:
Who, name but
Charles, he comes aloft for Him,
But holds up his Malignant leg at
Pym:
'Gainst whom th'ave several Articles in Souse,
First, that he barks against the sense o'th'House;
Resolv'd Delinquent, to the Tower straight;
Either to th'Lions, or the Bishops grate:
Next, for his Ceremonious wag o'th'tail;
But there the Sisterhood will be his Bail;
At least the Countess will, Lusts
Amsterdam,
That lets in all Religions of the Game.
Thirdly, he smells Intelligence, that's better,
And cheaper too, then
Pym's from his own Letter,
Who's doubly paid (Fortune, or We the blinder?)
For making Plots, and then for Fox the finder.
Lastly, he is a Devil, without doubt;
For when he would lie down, he wheels about;
Makes Circles, and is couchant in a Ring:
And therefore score up one for Conjuring.
What canst thou say, thou wretch? O quarter, quarter!
I'm but an Instrument, a meer Sir
Arthur:
If I must hang, O let not our fates vary,
Whose office 'tis alike to fetch and carry.
No hopes of a Reprieve; the mutinous stir
That strung the Jesuite, will dispatch a Cur.
Were I a devil, as the Rebel fears,
I see the House would try me by my Peers.
There
Jowler, there! ah
Jowler! 'st, 'tis nought;
Whatere th'accusers cry, they're at a fault:
And
Glyn and
Maynard have no more to say,
Then when the glorious
Strafford stood at Bay.
Thus Labels but annext to him, we see
Enjoy a Copie-hold of Victory.
St.
Peter's shadow heal'd;
Rupert is such,
'Twould finde St.
Peter work, yet wound as much;
He gags their Guns, defeats their dire intent;
The Cannons do but lisp and complement.
Sure
Jove descended in a Leaden shower
To get this
Perseus, hence the fatal power
Of Shot is strangled: Bullets thus ally'd,
Fear to commit an act of Parricide.
Go on, brave Prince, and make the world confess
Thou art the greater world, and that the less:
Scatter th' accumulative King, untruss
That fivefold Fiend, the States
Smectymnuus;
Who place Religion in their Vellam-ears,
As in their Phylacters the Jews did theirs.
England's a Paradise, (and a modest word)
Since guarded by a Cherubs flaming sword.
Your Name can scare an Atheist to his Prayers,
And cure the Chin-cough better then the Bears:
Old
Sibyl charms the Tooth-ach with you: Nurse
Makes you still children; and the pond'rous Curse
The Clowns salute with, is deriv'd from you,
(
Now Rupert
take thee, Rogue, how dost thou do?)
In fine, the Name of
Rupert thunders so,
K— 's but a rumbling Wheel-barrow.
FINIS.