University of Virginia Library

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IV. Part IV.

CANTO XI. Of Libels, Authors, and the several sorts of Persons who are the heightners of our Divisions.

The Fleet street Presses now grow bold,
And num'rous Lies in Print were told;
One Libel gave another chase,
And Paper Wars came on a pace;

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Hawkers, like Wild-geese flew along
In Trains, and cackl'd to the Throng;
Stretch'd wide their Throats, and strain'd their Vitals,
To tempt both Parties with their Titles;
Adding to all their senseless Stuff,
S---l's Name to push it off;
That Fame unsully'd might disguise,
And give a Sanction to their Lies;
So he that at a publick Table,
For Truth reports some monstrous Fable,
Fathers th' incredible Narration,
On some Great Man of Reputation;
That his own wild and senseless Fiction,
May pass more free from Contradiction.

Some wand'ring Scriblers for the Cause,
Skreen'd from the Danger of the Laws;
Now took the Low-Church Cudgel up,
To give their High-Church Foes a Wrap;
And brandish'd it Hand over Head,
Not caring what they did or said;

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Perhaps “No Drunkards or Vain Swearers,
Yet given to more sinful Errors;
Fraud, Malice, Lying, Defamation,
Revengeful false Insinuation;
And Crimes to their Eternal Shame,
Too black and scandalous to Name;
Thus Villains of the deepest Blot,
May freely tell us what they're not;
But they are only Just that dare,
To truly shew us what they are.

But now, as I before was saying,
The spiteful Asses would be braying;

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And e'ery Low-Church Scribe to Mall,
The Doctor, dip his Pen in Gall;
That with Ignoble Heat and Passion,
They might lay hold of this Occasion,
To spit their Venom and their Hate
At him, beneath the Frowns of State,
So the brave Stag that stands at Bay,
Unwilling to become a Prey;
When once the stanch old Dogs have thrown him,
The Puppies then fall in upon him.

The Coffee Tables now were spread,
With all the worst that could be said;
And the two Good old Cause Asserters,
Read most by Coblers and by Porters;
Were by the Saints kind Intercession,
Receiv'd again on this Occasion,
By Houses here and there from whence,
They had been Kick'd and Spew'd long since;
Hoping their Talents might prevail,
At such a time to turn the Scale;

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And that their Mutual Forces Join'd,
Harnass'd with Wit so much refin'd;
And so adorn'd instead of Sense,
With Trappings of Falsiloquence,
Might draw misjudging Fools to be,
In Love with their Sincerity;
That they might send a Hand to save,
A Cause that would themselves enslave;
Which Pious Work as carry'd on,
Might soon effectually be done;
Would we for Scripture read Reviews,
Con H---y's Works instead of News,
And Pin our Faith in all State Matters,
On Wise North Brittish Observators;
But those who once have got a Name,
For trading with Fallacious Fame;
When they speak Truth, 'tis thrown away,
'Cause none will Credit what they say.

However, num'rous Lies like Weeds,
Sprang up from Old Fanatick Seeds;

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And tho' they little Rooting had,
The thriving Cockle spread like mad;
Audacious Scandals now were thrown,
By Atheists, at the Rev'rend Gown,
Who basely Labour'd to revile
The Priests with Craft the Church with Guile;
And rav'd and rattled in their Heat,
As if they really did conceit,
Religion but an Ancient Cheat;
So he that is to Vice resign'd,
And does no Law Eternal mind;
Would fain believe to mend the Matter,
There is no Punishment herea'ter.

Each Coffeehouse where the Saints were wont
To read dull News, and Preach upon't;
Was now into a Bedlam turn'd,
Where one side Laugh'd, and t'other Mourn'd;
As if the sober plodding Knave
That look'd disconsolately Grave,
Was grown quite Melancholly Mad,
To see his Opposites so glad;

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Who in return were laughing wild,
To see the Saints so tame and mild;
After they'd been so crowing sure
Of winning All some Weeks before;
So he that does at Hazard play,
And stakes his all at best oth' lay;
If Fortune treats him with Disdain,
And sends the Chance before the Main;
The Purblind Gipsy he reviles,
Scratches his Ears, and bites his Nails;
Whilst he that Wins with Pleasure Smiles.

Some Saints, whose mod'rate Zeal extended,
Before the Tryal quite was ended,
To Hanging, Gelding, so untow'rd
A Doom, their very Wives abhor'd;
Or Banishment, the Lord knows whither,
And that to be at least for ever;
When all was over were again,
Become such soothing mod'rate Men;
That now they tun'd their Tongues and Throats
Another way, and chang'd their Notes;

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As if the Ventholes of their Passion,
Were double Cruits on occasion;
That as they pleas'd to Frown or Smile,
Could pour out Vinegar or Oyl;
So Esop's Satyr we are told,
With the same Breath, blew Hot and Cold.

Others as Resolute and fierce,
As Bull-dogs scorn'd to hang an Arse;
And since they'd shewn themselves so violent,
Would neither Modest prove or Silent;
But even rend their Spiteful Jaws,
To rail at those that try'd the Cause;
Because they would not be severer,
In punishing so great an Error;
And shew themselves more rash than they
That hop'd to make the Church their Prey;
And by triumphing o'er the Priest,
Turn Sacred Truths into a Jest;
Because not model'd to the spite,
Of each Fanatick Hypocrite;

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Who always were too Warm to hear,
Their Failings with a Patient Ear;
So he that knows himself a Knave,
If call'd so, will in Passion Rave,
And in his Vindication Cry;
Tho' true, 'tis a Nororious ly,
And to preserve, when vex'd and mad,
His good Name, which he never had;
Will Sue the Man with all his might,
For only saying what is Right.

Another sort of Men there are,
Who neither Love or Malice bear
To any Side; but dull as Brutes,
Without Concern hear all disputes:
And void of thought as Lifeless Clay,
Sit and say nothing either way,
Because they nothing have to say;
Passive in e'ery thing they seem,
Their Lives are one Continu'd Dream,
As if their Parents drunk or sick,
And Natures forces very weak;

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Had in their Sleep begot 'em a'ter,
A Drousie dose of Poppy Water;
And that they'd never truly been
Awak'd, since first Conceiv'd in Sin;
These never any diff'rence knew,
Betwixt the Christian or the Jew;
But would be equally Content,
With any Church or Government;
Yet for their harmless Temper pass,
With e'ery mild unthinking Ass;
For Prudent Men of Peace that Hate
Contention, Squabble and Debate;
When all their Calm indifference,
Ascrib'd to Modesty and Sense,
A Man of Brains may plainly see,
Is but profound Stupidity;
So he that Padlocks up his Chaps,
May pass for a Wise Man perhaps,
Who if Examin'd would be found,
An Empty Vessel full of Sound.

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Others there are Nurss'd up in Craft,
Of all that's truly Good Bereft,
Who guess Religion but a Mode,
Ordain'd by Man and not by God;
And therefore think that they may Chuse,
Or Change their Faith as Men their Shoes;
And that it is most safe to trust,
In what so e'er Climbs uppermost;
Believing Int'rest is the Root,
Of all Opinions now on Foot;
And that the Man that does but say,
His Pray'rs to her, can never Stray,
Or be a Sinner in the Main,
That measures Godliness by gain;
These with the Stream in Consort Glide,
And humour each Revolving Tide:
Appear in Puritannick Dresses,
And Cheat the World with Holy Faces;
The Saints in full Communion join
Not thro' Devotion but design;

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And in their looks and mean display,
Full as much Sanctity as they;
Yet darling Int'rest still persue,
In er'e thing they say or do,
Ne'er talk with heat to give Offence,
But Coax all sides to gain the Pence;
That should some unexpected Blow,
Restore the High and crush the Low;
They might forsake when Int'rest calls,
Their Modish meeting for St. Pauls,
Yet by their timely knocking under,
Give us no mighty Cause of Wonder;
So the Sharp Blade that falls in League,
With a Rich Lady of Intrigue;
And only does pretend to Love her,
To make the most he can do of her,
Ne'er binds himself with Oaths and Uows,
So close but that he may Espouse,
The Woman that he likes much better,
Whose Fortune or whose Charms are greater.

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Next to this wav'ring wick'd Race,
In no Part Christian but in Face,
Who tast Religion like False Zealots,
With Vitious Atheistick Pallats;
There are a sworded Whigish Train,
That hold all Vertue in disdain;
Hector like Ruffins Swear and Rattle,
And damn the High-Church o'er the Bottle,
Whore on like Bullies, drink like Dragons,
Call themselves Whigs, but talk like Pagans;
Toast Healths to this and that great Lord,
And cause he's High-Church damn the Third;
By Raving turn the House or Room,
T'a Bedlam where so e'er they come;
In Tavern Kitchens roar and Bellow,
And Spit their Poyson when they're Mellow;
Fright Modest Men with blustring Words,
And awe the Tim'rous with their Swords;
Pick Shameful Quarrells o're the Quart,
With those that do their Nonsense Thwart;

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Make Sport with all that's good and Holy,
And bear down truth with Noisy Folly;
Worry o're Wine Superiour Sense,
With Partial Heat and Impudence,
And broach a Thousand Bugbear lies,
That greater Fools may think 'em Wise;
At Random talk what would have been,
High Treason in another Reign:
And he that hears and won't Submit
Must be at least a Jacobite.
And all because he can't Comply,
To pin his Faith upon a ly;
These for the Low-Church too declare,
All tho' they to no Church repair;
Or do they ever fake their sitting,
In any but a Tavern meeting:
Yet Tooth and Nail they will defend,
That Church to which they do pretend;
Tho' 'tis believ'd they ne'er could say,
Their Creed or know they how to pray;
Except Witch like the Backward way;

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So worthless Mungrils that are bred,
Among the Hounds and with them Fed;
All tho' the Puppies have no Noses,
They'l with them Hunt thro' Woods and Closes;
Persue the Game the self same way,
And spend and Yelp as well as they.

But still there are a far worse Sort,
Of Whigs who do the Church more hurt
Than these; and by their restless Tongues,
And busy Pens do greater wrongs,
To true Religion than the Rest,
Because of Keener Parts possest,
These with a double meaning Write,
To shew their Wit and next their Spite
That betwixt Tickling and their Teasing,
Their Malice may be render'd Pleasing;
And that the Calumny and Satyr,
With which they do the Church bespatter;
May stick the Closer, Wound the deeper,
And in a low Condition keep her;

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The Cheif of these whose Books of late,
Were Justly Censur'd by the State;
Enrag'd by the provoking Flame,
The Hangman Kindled for the same,
Has since by new Invectives Shown
How much he Values Church or Throne;
In laying at the Roots of both,
The Ax of Malice and untruth,
That by Perverting Solid Sense;
With artfull querks and Impudence,
And by opposing Real Fact,
With Study'd lies together Pack'd;
He might Insinuate to the Nation,
The Church in Law has no Foundation,
And that Exemption's Tolleration.
So Strenously infer from thence
To Couzen Fools and please the Saints;
That they're on such a Legal Footing,
As gives their Worship, better Rooting;
Than the Establish'd Church Divine,
That's Built upon the Thirty Nine;

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The Stuborn Turk or faith less Jew;
May say their own Opinion's True,
And Scribble, Wrangle, Lie, and Bluster,
To make the Alcoran pass Muster;
Or use a Crafty Strenuous Plea,
In Right of Infidelity:
But shall we to our wick'd Shame,
For sake our Faith to Humour them
Give up Christianity to please,
Such Heathenish Miscreants as these;
No, to the Church let's stick the closer,
When such bold Enemies oppose her:
And never heed what 'tis they Write,
Or say against her in their Spite;
Nay, tho' some Pharisees that join her,
To only Rob and undermine her;
Who praise her Worship but in Part,
And hug her but with half a Heart;
Should Scruples raise and be offended,
At this or that to have it mended;

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We should distinguish 'em the same
With those, who at her Ruin aim:
And look on each Fanatick Cavil,
To be some base infectious evil;
Rais'd by her greatest Foe the Devil.
Church Enemies are ne'er at rest,
And when they Solemnly protest,
They mean, alas, no Harm unto her,
Most Mischeif they're about to do her;
Like Subtile Jilts they play their Parts,
And Skreen their Ills by private Arts:
Seem most devout when 'tis to hide,
Their Plots their Malice and their Pride;
And when they have most hurt design'd:
Give out a quite Contrary Blind,
Adress the Prince they would betray,
And Fawn the most to clear the Way;
That by pretence of being Friends,
They may the better gain their Ends,
Cry out for Liberty aloud;
To gull the poor unthinking Croud,

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When 'tis their hidden base intent,
T'enslave 'em by their own Consent,
Disguise all Ills in agitation
Against the Church, with Reformation:
And always seem the most devout,
When they've the worst designs on Foot;
Just so the Subtile Crocadile,
That lurks upon the Banks of Nile;
Does by dissembl'd Tears betray,
Poor harmless Creatures in his way;
And weeping takes his Heedless prey.
Who then would such a Brood believe,
That Fawn and Whine when they deceive;
And charge on others those designes,
Themselves drive on in hidden Mines.

The Church-men tho' sincerely true,
To God their Queen and Country too;
Because they wont Submit to be,
Enslav'd by Factious Tyranny;
Must be call'd Perkenites and Traytors,
And made most wick'd Odious Creatures;

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Be Charg'd with Plots against the State,
And all those Ills they truly hate;
Be stil'd rank Papists by their Scriblers,
And bear the dirt of all their Libelers;
Tho' they're fix'd Enemies to Pop'ry,
As well as to Fanatick Fop'ry;
And are the Nations only Friends,
That have prevented both their Ends;
And stop'd we hope by Countermining,
The Mischeifs both have been designing.

But in return of all their heat,
And flagrant Malice they have Spit;
Should the same Church the Truth disclose,
And tell their undermining Foes;
What Wise Men think, they'd rave and Huff,
And Swear 'twas only Popish Stuff,
That notwithstanding all their thin,
Pretences which they use to Skreen;
Their dark Intrigues that 'tis too plain,
The Game of old's begun again;

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And that they shew themselves to be,
Rank Enemies to Monarchy;
Republicans who aim by stealth,
To change us to a Common Wealth:
That when the Nations thus betray'd,
Their own dull Teachers may invade
The Church, and in her Pulpits Preach
Such Tenets up that sute therewith,
Whilst leading Knaves, as once before,
By Craft Usurp the Regal Power,
Kill, Hang, Sequester and Oppress,
To glut their Pride and Avarice,
This is their aim and their persuit;
Altho' they want the Pow'r to do't,
But should we still Sleep on in Silence,
They plainly shew us by their Violence,
That they'l be Vigilant to gain,
Those ends they're lab'ring to obtain;
We therefore equal care should take,
To Baffle the Efforts they make;

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And not thro' too much Coufidence
In them, neglect our own defence;
For Slothful Negligence, we see,
Th' effect of Vain Security,
Oft makes the stranger Fortune's sport,
And gives the Weaker Pow'r to hurt;
What People then when once allarm'd,
Would quit their Sheilds and Sleep unarm'd.

CANTO XII. Of Mens Deportment in the Coffee-Houses, of the Mine-Adventure, The Affrican-Company, of those who desire War, and others Peace, with a Prayer for the Queen and Church.

Now Warm debates were carry'd on,
In e'ery Coffee-House Pro and Con;

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Where Whigs of e'ery sort and size,
Began aloud to Tyrannize;
Some Grave old Cits Nurs'd up in Trade,
Betwixt the Church and Meeting bred;
Amphibeous Christians who can run
To either, but be true to none;
Whose Dealings long have prov'd too plain,
They scarce know any God but Gain;
That Gold's the Standard of their Faith;
And Int'rest their Celestial Path;
Yet these will o'er their Jewish Liquor,
About Religion Jar and Bicker;
And rave till grown as Piping Hot,
As the dull Grout o'er which they sot,
But still they take all Modish Care
To tell what Sorts of Saints they are;
And by their Loud Revilings Show,
They're true Blew Protestants, but Low;
Affirm they Love with all their Souls,
The Church, but yet like Knaves or Fools;
Reproach all Goodmen that defend her,
And fain would make her bad to mend her;

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Thus those who've neither Will or Grace,
To mend themselves but still are Base;
We see cannot forbear pretending,
To reform that which needs no mending:
Tho' they're attended with the Curse,
Of allwayes making better Worse;

One by the Mine adventure Bit,
Will o'er their Coffee Railing sit;
Against the canting cunning Knight,
Who tho' a Rank old Jacobite;
Found out a lucky way to shew 'em,
In their own Art he could out do 'em:
And unsuspected Pitkinise,
The Crafty Saints Fanatick-wise,
Altho' they knew no Mortal fitter,
Than Good Sir Mac to Bite the Biter:
But sure those Saints had quite forgot,
Themselves who were so Wondrous hot;
To trust their Money in the Pow'r,
Of one who'd flown so high before,

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And oft Oppos'd in Books and Speeches,
Their sly Intrigues and Cunning Fetches;
But 'tis no Wonder since we find,
That Int'rest often makes Men blind;
And Tempts 'em by a Golden Bait,
To trust and Flatter those they Hate;

Some who are in Accounts Exact,
Demonstrate plainly that the Act,

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Which was of Late so timely made,
To Regulate the Size of Bread;
Has left it still i'th' Bakers Pow'r,
To Cheat their Customers much more,
Then e'er they us'd to do before;
Which shews how hard 'tis to Restrain,
The Knavish Practice of such Men;
Who will in Spite of Law persue it,
Because theyv'e been Accustom'd to it;
So the Sly Lass that has been Beded,
Before She's to her Lover Wedded;
Will alwayes after ready be
T'Improve an opportunity.

Some full of News Collected from,
The Prints Abroad and lies at Home;
Sit Gravely setting forth the whole,
That's said and done 'twixt Pole and Pole;
Tell you the very Day and Hour,
When we shall all our Foes o'erpow'r
What lucky Steps we wisely take,
And e'ery Progress that we make;

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When we shall give the French a Shock,
And at the Gates of Paris Knock;
What Wonders will at last befal,
And be the great Event of all;
Thus some in Earnest some in Jest,
With Groundless Whims Amuse the rest;
And what the Busy Knaves Invent,
The Foolish take upon Content.

Others come Puffing in to tell
The Tidings of the last New Mail;
That Peace is fresh again on Foot,
And all Sides are Inclining To't;
That France is forward to Comply,
And does no Terms we ask deny;
This vexes some who long have made
Advantage of a Secret Trade;
And Startles others who are for
No Peace, because they gain by War;
But highly pleases all the Rest,
Who truly wish the Nation Blest;

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And that Britanina's aweful Queen,
Who has in War so prosp'rous been;
May long enjoy in Downy Peace,
A sweet and unmolested Ease;
And those Calm Blessings that arise,
From all her Glorious Victories;
That then or sooner may She see,
Her Subjects from Contention free;
And all those Quarrels, Fewds and Heats,
That now Perplex her Throne by Fits;
And e'ery Breach our Foes improve,
Unite in Frindship and in Love;
May both the Names of High and Low,
To e'ery Party Odious grow;
Till by all Sides they're given o'er,
And ever Cease to be no more;
May we from Anna's Vertues Learn,
That good we no where else Discern;
And Labour to return the Throne,
Those Blessings She has made our own;

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May those who would invade or Lower,
The Lawful Rights of Sov'raign Pow'r;
And Struggle by designes Nefarious,
To make the Royal-Throne, Precarious;
Whether they're Jacobites or Whigs,
Be made as Black as their Intrigues;
Render'd unquailifi'd to be,
Entrusted with Authority;
And by the Reins of Human Law
Be alwayes Curb'd and kept in Awe.

May all good Men who ever lov'd
Their Queen and Country stand unmov'd;
And alwayes truly be agreed
To defend both in time of need,
Against all ill designes began
By Papist or Republican;
That no Attempt 'gainst Church or State,
May ever be oppos'd too late;
But in its Early Progress meet,
A timely and Intire Defeat;

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That Pride and Avarice may see,
In Spite of Man God still will be;
Th' all Powerful Guardian of the Throne,
He only makes the Monarch's own.

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