University of Virginia Library

The Oservator.

Or the History of Hodge, as reported by some; from his siding with Noll, and scribling for Rome.

Stand forth thou grand Impostor of our time,
The Nations scandal, Punishment and Crime;
Unjust Usurper of ill gotten Praise,
Unmatch'd by all but thy leud Brother Bays;
How well have you your sev'ral Gallants chose,
Damnably to plague the World in Verse and Prose.
Like two Twin Comets: when you do appear
We justly may suspect some danger near.
He lately did under correction pass,
Honour'd by that great hand that gave the Lash,
A doom too glorious for that cursed head,
And unproportion'd to the Life he lead,
But you are to a viler fate design'd,
To suffer by a vulgar hand like mine,
We'll tear your Vizard and unmask your shame,
And at each corner Gibbet up your name.
Expose you to the Scorn of all you meet,
As Dogs drag grinning Cats about the Street.
Under Usurping Noll you first began
To rear your Head and shew your self a Man;
Unpittying saw the Royal Party fall,
And Danc'd and Fiddled to the Funeral;
Disclaim'd their Interest and renounc'd their side,
And with the Independant straight comply'd;
Officious in their Service wrote for Hire;
A brisk Crowdero in the Factious Quire:
Your nimble Pen on all their Errands run;
The Horoscope still opens to the Sun.
There 'twas in those unhappy days,
You laid foundation for designed Praise;
By disrespect ignobly purchas'd shame,
And damn'd your Soul to scandalize your Name:
When Charles at length by Providence came in,
You fac'd about and quickly chang'd the Scene;
Turn'd to new Notes your mercenary strings,
Began to play Divinity of Kings:
Your former Master straightway is forgot,
Stil'd Villain, Rogue, Thief, Murderer, what not?
Such recompence he doth deserve to have,
Who for his Interest durst employ a Knave.
Now 'twas a time you thought to take your ease,
After such great Exploits perform'd as these:
Applauding to your self your own deserts,
You strait set up for a vain Ass of Parts;
Resolving that the Ladies too should know,
What other Tricks and Gambals you could do.
Was there a skipping Whore about the Town?
Or private Baudy-house to you unknown?
Here for a Stallion, there for a Pimp you went;
To do both Drudgeries alike content.
But Ill success you had with Madam C---k,
Whom in the Act her Husband took:
Strong Bastinado o're your shoulders laid,
Made you a while surcease that letcherous trade,
Till growing old in customary sin,
You with a Chaster Lady did begin,
Whom when you found she all Assaults refus'd,
And would not yield her self to be abus'd;
Down on your Knees you presently was laid,
And thus (O righteous Heaven) devoutly pray'd:
Since you disdain the kind request to grant,
Dear Madam let me lay my hand upon't.
This is the Man whose whole Discourse and tone,
Is Honour, Justice, Truth, Religion;
Was such a Godly Rascal ever known?
But now reform'd by indigence of Gold.
Your former wanton course grew slack and cold,
For 'twas at first indeed too hot to hold.
Now new expedients must employ your Brain,
And other Methods for advance of Gain;
Something contriv'd in private, touch'd the State,
Which made you timely think of a retreat;
Beyond Sea then the wretched Caitiff flies,
A guilty Conscience has Quick-sighted Eyes.
When you return'd, you fell to work amain,
And took up your old Scribling trade again;
Some sorry scandal on Fanaticks thrown,
And viler Canting upon Forty one;
You thought sufficient to oblige the Crown;
Then who but you, the World was all your own.
Now for the Church of England you declare,
A witty zealous Protestant appear;
Your secret spies and emissaries use
To pay for false Intelligence and News:
When nam'd in two Diurnals you dispence
Equally void of Reason, Truth, and Sense.
Guinea's now from every quarter came
To pay respect to your encreasing Fame,
While you at Sam's like a grave Doctor sate,
Teaching the Minor Clergy how to prate,
Who lickt your Spittle up and then came down,
And shed the nasty Drivel o're the Town.
Ay these were blessed times and happy days,
When all the World conspired to your praise:
He who refus'd and would no Token send,
Must be traduc'd as the Dissenters Friend:
And that your Greatness no regard might lack,
You got a Knighthood chopt upon your Back.
But something now has stopt that rapid stream,
And you have nothing more to say for them:
Your piercing Eye discovers from a far,
The glittering Glory of some further Star,
Which bids you pay your adoration there.
Inconstant Rover, whether do'st thou tend?
When will thy tedious Villanies have end?
Whither at last do'st thou intend to go?
Of which party wilt thou e'er prove true?
To Turk, or Pope, to Protestant or Jew?
Should I here all thy Villanies recount,
To what a mighty summ do they amount?
Thy solemn Protestations, Oaths and Lies,
Devices, Shams, Evasions, Perjuries,
My Paper to a Volumn would exceed,
Of greater bulk than Hollingshead and Speed.
For thou art now so scandalously known,
And so remarkable in Vice alone,
That every one can find a stone to throw
At such a snarling pimping Cur as thou.
But wretch! if still thou art not past all Grace,
And wholsome counsel can with thee find place;
If thou at last sincerely wouldst attone,
And expiate thy former mischiefs done,
Like dying Judas render back thy pelf,
Recant thy Books and then go hang thy self.

The Farewell.

The SCAMPERERS.

The Miracle;

How the Dutchess of Modena (being in Heaven) prayed the B. Virgin that the Queen might have a Son, and how our Lady sent the Angel Gabriel with her Smock; upon which the Queen was with Child.

DIALOGUE.

M.

J.

The Prophesie.

An Excellent new Ballad, call'd, the Prince of Darkness;

shewing how three Nations may be set on Fire by a Warming-Pan.

As I went by St. James's I heard a Bird sing,
Of certain, the Q. has a Boy in the Spring,
But one of the Chair-men did laugh and did say,
It was born over Night, & brought forth the next day;
This Bantling was heard at St. James's to squaul,
Which made the Q. make so much haste from White-H.
Peace, Peace, little Master, and hold up thy head,
Here's Money bid for thee, the true Mother said;
But no body knows from what Parish it came,
And that is the reason it has not a Name.
Good Catholicks all were afraid it was dying,
There was such abundance of sighing and crying;
VVhich is a good Token by which we may swear,
It is the Q---s own, and the Kingdoms right Heir.
Now if we should happen to have a true Lad,
From the Loins of so wholsom a Mother and Dad,
'Twere hard to determine which Blood were the best,
That of Southask, or the Bastard of Est;
But now we have cause for Thansgiving indeed,
There was no other way for mending the Breed.

A New SONG.

[Our History reckons some Kings of great fame]

A New SONG.

[In Rome there is a most fearful Rout]