University of Virginia Library

CANTO VIII.

Amboyna was a Tearing Bout,
Rarely well we held it out.
Irelands Butchery was great.
Which, with its own, made England sweat.
The Harp gave a deadly Twang,
And we to that pleasant Musick sang.
The Thistle scratcht to the quick
Both Roses: It was Old Nick.
The Cross was Blood-red indeed,
The Lion Rampant did bleed.
We made the Belgick Lion roar,
While his Limbs were in pieces tore.
Hungary is half devour'd,
Muscovia and Poland sadly scour'd.

27

Denmark was almost falling,
France and Spain lay a sprawling.
'Twas Moulting time, you may presume,
When the Old Eagle cast his Plume.
She hatcht too many Young ones to thrive,
Had much ado to keep 'um alive:
So Bees over-stock the Hive.
Italy is the Pope's Darling,
Her petty Princes are always snarling.
Sweth-Land often is a nodding,
Venice 'gainst the Turk is plodding.
Hispaniola cried, Oh;
But Jamaica felt the Blow;
We aim'd at Pure Gold you know,
In our Eye was Mexico.
Of Hellebore they took a Cup,
So the Gulf swallow'd them up.
Who created all these Ires?
Who kindled all these Fires?
We, by the help of our good Friends,
Have brought about these fatal Ends:
And we are ready at the door,
To do a Thousand times more.
Thus every of us play'd the Whore,
And never, never shall give ore.
Shout, dance, sing, clap your hands,
Y'are Conquerors of Seas and Lands.
Honour and Profit you invites,
To make the World your Proselytes.
Who but you do all the Feats?
Who but you are the grand Cheats?

28

'Gainst Truth arm great and small,
That you may rise, while others fall.
At India, a Spade's a Spade,
We drove the English out of their Trade.
We cheated them of Guiana Gold,
(The thing that tempts both young and old,)
Silken and Spicy Wares by Sea and Land,
We made them Truck at second hand:
And if under whom you'd know,
'Twas the Dutch Devils, I trow.
These built them Cities, Towns and Forts,
To beat us out of our Resorts.
Batavia is their stately Mart,
Where they rant it with Coach and Cart;
And of all Nations get the start,
Value not Princes nor Kings a Fart.
Of Old, the Indian Lads and Lasses
Were cheated with Brass Rings and Glasses;
Puppets, old Iron, Bodkins, Pins,
For Gold and Jewels, and Precious Things:
But now they will not be such Asses,
To be put off with Toys and Trashes;
For we have taught them at long running,
A great deal more Wit and Cunning:
Good Gold and Silver, Down with your Dust,
For Silks and Spices pay you must.
The Men of China are so Shy
To keep us out, I don't know why:
But if they'd give us leave to dwell,
For an Inch, we'd take an Ell.

29

Be sure to set them such a Spell,
That after it they shall ne're do well.
I wonder a Devils name what should ail us,
Till then our Wits did never fail us.
To be reveng'd, we sent the Tartars,
On a sudden to break up their Quarters.
Now we have opened the Door,
That barr'd them all up close before,
They shall ne're be mew'd up more.
A Company of sly Rogues and Whores,
We shall pay them their old Scores.
Away they go, away with them now,
We have begun to drive the Plow.
Have at them, to the purpose now,
We'l fat them up like Boar and Sow:
Teach 'um to hide like Sow in Beans,
For why should they get all the Means?
They have thriv'd hitherto too long,
Turn them a grazing among the Throng,
We'l pay'um off, Ding dong.
I had forgot the Cannibal Cheaters,
A Company of Man-Eaters;
We'l provide them better Food,
Than to eat Mans flesh and drink Mans blood.
There are Banditi's and Tories,
Of whom we have heard mad stories.
If we get in among the Slaves,
We shall fright 'um to their Graves.
There are left a sort of Scepticks,
That go about with their Protrepticks:

30

Every where they all things watch,
Aim at every thing, but nothing catch.
The brave young Hobbist scorns and slies
The Inns of Court, and Universities.
He vilifies the Man in Black,
Makes the poor Curate drunk with Sack.
There's neither good nor bad Fortune nor Fate,
All is the Policy of State.
It is the Humor of the Times,
To be frighted at Bugbear Crimes.
By his Principles he is bidden,
Not to be Priest or Lawyer-ridden:
But we can catch the idle Fop,
And whip him like a Town-Top;
And if he have a costly Crop,
Give the Drunken Buffoon a Sop.
Dance him but a pleasant Jig,
A Treat, a Banquet, and a Fig.