 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
A Heroick Scene.
Enter Oliver's Porter, Fidler, and Poet in Bedlam.The Scene adorned with several of the Poets own Flowers, known by the Itallick Character.
Porter.
O glory! Glory! who are these appear?
My Fellow-Servants, Poet, Fidler here?
Old Hodge the Constant, Johnny the Sincere.
Who sent you hither? And pray tell me why
An horrid silence does Invade mine Eye,
While not one sound of Voice from you I spye.
Johnny.
I come to let thee know, the time is now
To turn and fawn, and flatter as we do,
And follow that which does too fast pursue.
Be wise, neglect your Interest now no more;
Interest! The Prince we serve, the God w' adore.
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But, e're his Head was off, I was prepar'd
To own the Rump, and for that Cause did Rhime;
But those kick'd out, next Moment turn'd to him
Who routed them: Call'd him my Soveraign,
And prais'd his opening of a Kingly Vein.
Hodge.
I by my Lowring Planets was accurst
To be for barren Loyalty at first;
But when to Nolls, our Charles's fate gave place,
I could abjure the Unhappy Royal Race:
To Noll I all my fingers skill did show,
And charm'd his Highness with my nimble Bow.
Besides, I serv'd him as a faithful Spy,
And did decoy the Cavalierish Fry;
Gold from his bounteous Highness charm'd my Eyes,
My old Whore Balt Gl---ss could ne're suffice
For the Expence and Equipage of spies.
Johnny.
Come joyn with us to make our Party strong,
And you can never be in Bedlam long.
Hodge.
Were you yet Madder you might serve the state,
And be concern'd in things of greatest weight.
Johnny.
For (as Turks their Santons) we adore
The Fools and Madmen, and their aid implore:
They're such who share my Panegyrick Verse,
Hodge.
To such I write, not to Philosophers.
Porter.
Such frequent turns should you to Bedlam bring
From Rump to Cromwell, Cromwell to the King;
Then to your Idol Church, next to the Pope,
Which may one day prefer you to the Rope:
I amongst Madmen am confin'd 'tis true,
But I have more solidity than you.
Johnny.
A Windmill is not fickle; for we find
That it is always constant to the Wind:
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The Conquerour ever does my Muse subdue;
And with whatever Tossing she shall meet,
She, like a Cat, shall light upon her feet.
Hodge.
How long did I write for the English Church,
Yet now think fit to leave her in the lurch:
Like Will o'th'-Wispe th'Inferiour Clergy I
Led into Quagmires, where I let them lie;
Some into Boggs and Ditches I have cast,
Where let them flounder what they will, they're fast:
So far Crape-Gown is plung'd into the mire,
It is not possible it should retire.
Porter.
My Spirit boils within my troubled Breast,
These Rogues are come to interrupt my rest.
Johnny.
When the Exalted Whiggs were in their
I spent my Oyl and Labour on their side.
Wrote a Whigg Play, and Shaftsbury out-ran;
For all my Maxims were Republican;
For the Excluding-Bill I did declare,
Libell'd and Rail'd, and did no Monarch spare:
When they began to droop I fac'd about,
And with my Pen I damn'd the Whiggish rout.
Nay every turn before-hand I can find,
As your sagacious Hog foresees the Wind.
Hodge.
You nimbly turn to that which does prevail,
No Seaman e're could sooner shift his Sail.
Johnny.
Like a true Renegado still I maul
The party I forsook with utmost gall.
Hodge.
So I ere long shall damn the Heretick Souls
Of my old Comrade Coffee-Priests near Pauls.
Spies upon all their Pulpits I maintain,
And if of Rome, or Slavery they complain,
Or for their own against our Church they Preach;
I roar as if they did Sedition Teach;
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If I want Truth, Invention still supplies.
Johnny.
But a reserve I kept for Monmouth still,
Should he prevail, I with such equal skill
With Satyr-mingled praise he could not take it Ill.
And had that Prince Victorious been at Lime,
I the Black-Box had justified in Rhime.
I was prepar'd to praise or to abhor him,
Satyr I had and Panegyrick for him.
[Por. aside.]
Oh feed of Locusts, from the Infernal Lake
You'l cause my anger and I'le make you quake.
Hodge.
Long my sly pen serv'd Rome, and I atchiev'd
Ample Rewards, whole sholes of Priests deceiv'd.
I wrought with such Imperceptible Tools,
That I of heaps of Guineas gull'd those Fools:
The only Bubbles in the World they be,
Who, to their cost, must feel before they see:
In publick yet the English Church I own,
Tho' I am subtilly Writing of it down;
For yet it is not time I should declare
Lest Fools, to whom I write, should be aware.
Johnny.
Men best themselves 'gainst open foes defend,
But perish surely by a seeming Friend;
One Son turn'd me, I turn'd the other two;
But had not an Indulgence, Sir, like you;
I felt my Purse insensibly consume
Till I had openly declar'd for Rome.
Hodge.
Now fellow Servant pray at length be wise
And follow our Example and Advice.
Porter.
VVhat! turn to Rome, who did our City burn?
And wou'd our Ancient Government o'return?
Hodge.
Hold! Is not the Inscription blotted out?
Por.
Therefore who burnt the City none need doubt.
149
It was Almighty Fire from Heav'n came down
To punish the Rebellious stiff-neck'd Town;
All which had perish'd in devouring flames,
Tho on the fire y'had emptied all the Thames;
Had all its Waves been on the Houses tost,
It had but basted them as they did rost;
But Heaven a Chrystal Pyramid did take,
Of that a broad Extinguisher did make
In Firmamental Waters dipt above,
To Hood the Flames which to their Quarry strove.
Porter.
A Pyramid Extinguisher to Hood!
'Tis Nonsense never to be understood.
Hod.
What, you believe the Plot of Varlet Oates?
Por.
Ten Proclamations and Four Senates Votes.
John.
That Godfreys Life was by the Papists sped?
Por.
Oh, No! He kill'd himself when he was dead.
Hod.
To Jesuits dying you will Credit give.
Por.
Yes! full as much as all the while they live.
But dying Protestants I'le not believe,
For they allow of neat Equivocation,
And of flat Lies, with Mental Reservation.
John.
Hark Hodge: To gain him we in vain contend,
Our Fellow Servant is a Wagg, dear Friend.
Hodge.
I'le try him farther; for his Parts are such,
To bring him o're must needs avail us much,
Who are for Rome & France 'gainst th'English & the Dutch
Come Fellow Servant, you blieve our Plot
Of Russel, H---n, Sydney, and what not?
Of B---, Walcot, of Bow-steeple and the Rye
Por.
For R---l would, but H---n wou'd not Lie,
Rumbald and Walcot too did both deny
Ayloff to boot; but Cowards are not brave;
For Fear's a Passion which all Cowards have:
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Of th'Evidence I credit not one word.
Johnny.
Can you distrust what G--- and E--- say?
Port.
What! two such Excellent Moral Men as they!
Hod.
Others there are swore home as Men cou'd do.
Por.
Who for their Lives must swear home 'tis true.
Against the Popish Crew none ever swore
But a full Pardon he obtain'd before;
These Swearers are like Cormorants, for they,
On Whiggs with ropes about their gullets prey.
John.
What then? will you not be to Interest true?
We both are of the same belief with you;
But we know better what we have to do.
Por. aside.
Did ever Hell send such a brace of Knaves;
Such abject Cowards, Mercenary Slaves!
[Exit frowning.
John.
His looks are wild, his fiery Eye-balls roul,
A Raging Tempest's labouring in his Soul.
Let's prudently retire.
Porter Re-enters with a great Bible given him by Nell G.
Por.
You sneaking Rogues would you be gone?
Here's that shall knock both you and Popery down.
He knocks them down with the Bible, and stamps upon them, they get up.
Hodge.
Rash Man! for this I full revenge will take,
And set our Evidence upon your back.
John.
Audacious Fool, how dare you tempt your fate?
Provoking me a Pillar of the State,
Who with my Pen alone have turn'd the Scale,
And made the Tories o're the Whiggs prevail?
Hodge.
Your Pen alone!—
Can I this Arrogance endure to hear,
Wou'd you usurp the Garland I should wear?
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You with your Forty Eight, and Forty One,
VVith Screws and Antipendiums plagu'd the Town;
VVhile even the Whiggs admir'd my lofty Verses,
Your VVitless Prose did Fodder Torys Arses.
Hodge.
I'll through your Arse touch Honour to the quick,
And find if you have any by this kick.
[Kicks the Poet.
Johnny.
Kick on, old Fool, till you your Toes shall maul,
I have had several, and can bear them all:
Besides, I'm us'd to't—
Porter.
Hence you wretched Slaves,
There is Contagion in such Fools and Knaves.
I'll wring your Necks off, if you ever more
Presume to set your feet within this door:
I'm Chief, and have Dominion in this place.
Johnny.
I'll spend my gushing blood upon thy Face;
And if thou dar'st effect thy dire Design
With my two Hands I'll fling my Head at thine.
Porter.
Holloa St. Dennis, have at you.
Johnny.
Murder, Murder!
[He kicks and beats them, they run roaring out.
Hodge.
Help, Help!
Porter.
I on these Knaves shall never more complain,
They have call'd back my wandring sense again. [He Pawses, and seems to come to himself.
Of all Mankind, happy alone are we,
From all Ambition, from all Tumults free:
No Plots nor vile Informers need we fear;
No Plagues, nor Tortures for Religion here.
Our Thoughts, nay even our very words are free,
Not damn'd by Fines, or loss of Liberty;
None here's impeach'd by a vile Table spye,
VVho with an Innuendo backs his lye;
VVords and Lampoons we laugh at, and ne're care
VVhat's said by Men, if Actions they forbear;
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Since none can Ridicule ought that is good;
'Tis VVomanish, and springs from Impotence,
For no great Man at words e're took Offence.
At Rome, in all her Glory, words were free;
Just Governments can never Jealous be;
But when to Tyranny Rome did decline,
VVeak Emperours with Delatores join
To plague the people, and themselves undo;
For when they're fear'd they must be hated too.
And whom Men hate with Ruin they'll pursue.
One VVitness and a Circumstance for Facts,
Is not enough; we must prove Overt Acts.
Our happy Government makes no Offence,
But open and Rebellious Violence.
VVhich we to quell no standing Army need,
Nor can Dragoons upon free Quarter feed;
Booted Apostles we have none, that come
To knock and beat Men to the Church of Rome;
VVhen its Butt-end prevails not, Torments will,
For Lewis is not yet so Merciful to kill.
Here we divided from the troubled VVorld,
Rest and are into no Confusions hurl'd;
For all our wants does our wise State provide
Here ev'ry Vacant place is still supply'd,
VVith Persons that are duly qualify'd;
No favour raises a Desertless Knave,
Nor Infamy, nor yet the Gold he gave.
How would all Subjects envy us, shou'd we
Publish the secrets of our Hierarchy?
| Poems on Affairs of State | |