University of Virginia Library

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

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

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