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 | The character of a London-Diurnall |  |
9
Upon an Hermophrodite.
Sir, or Madame, chuse you whether,
Nature twist'd you both together:
And makes thy soule two garbes confess,
Both peticoat and breeches-dress.
Thus we chastise the God of Wine
With water that is Feminine,
Untill the cooler Nymph abate
His wrath, and so concorporate.
Adam till his rib was lost,
Had both Sexes thus ingrost:
When providence our Sire did cleave,
And out of Adam carved Eve,
Then did man 'bout Wedlock treat
To make his body up compleat:
Thus Matrimony speakes but Thee
In a grave solemnity.
For man and wife, make but one right
Canonicall Hermophrodite.
Ravell thy body, and I finde
In every limb a double kinde.
Who would not thinke that Head a paire,
That breeds such faction in the haire?
One halfe so churlish in the touch,
That rather then endure so much,
I would my tender limbes apparell
In Regulus his nailed barrell:
But the other halfe so small,
And so amorous withall,
That Cupid thinks each haire doth grow
A string for his invis'ble Bow.
When I looke babies in thine eyes,
Here Venus, there Adonis lyes.
And though thy beauty be high noone,
Thy Orbe containes both Sun and Moone.
How many melting kisses skip
'Twixt thy Male and Female lip?
'Twixt thy upper brush of haire
And thy nether beards dispaire.
When thou speak'st I would not wrong,
Thy sweetnesse with a double tongue:
But in every single sound
A perfect Dialogue is found.
Thy breasts distinguish one another,
This the sister, that the brother.
When thou joyn'st hands, my eare still fancies
The Nuptiall sound, I Iohn take Frances:
Feele but the difference, soft and rough,
This a Gantlet, that a Muffe:
Had sly Ulysses, at the sack
Of Troy, brought thee his Pedlers pack,
And weapons too to know Achilles
From King Nicomedes Phillis,
His plot had fail'd; this hand would feele
The Needle, that the warlike steele.
When musick doth thy pace advance,
Thy right legge takes thy left to dance.
Nor is't a Galliard danc't by one,
But a mixt dance, though alone.
Thus everie heteroclite part
Changes gender, but thy heart.
Nay those which modest can meane,
And dare not speake, are Epicœne;
That Gamester needs must over-come,
That can play both Tib, and Tom.
Nature twist'd you both together:
And makes thy soule two garbes confess,
Both peticoat and breeches-dress.
Thus we chastise the God of Wine
With water that is Feminine,
Untill the cooler Nymph abate
His wrath, and so concorporate.
Adam till his rib was lost,
Had both Sexes thus ingrost:
When providence our Sire did cleave,
And out of Adam carved Eve,
Then did man 'bout Wedlock treat
To make his body up compleat:
Thus Matrimony speakes but Thee
In a grave solemnity.
For man and wife, make but one right
Canonicall Hermophrodite.
Ravell thy body, and I finde
In every limb a double kinde.
Who would not thinke that Head a paire,
That breeds such faction in the haire?
One halfe so churlish in the touch,
That rather then endure so much,
10
In Regulus his nailed barrell:
But the other halfe so small,
And so amorous withall,
That Cupid thinks each haire doth grow
A string for his invis'ble Bow.
When I looke babies in thine eyes,
Here Venus, there Adonis lyes.
And though thy beauty be high noone,
Thy Orbe containes both Sun and Moone.
How many melting kisses skip
'Twixt thy Male and Female lip?
'Twixt thy upper brush of haire
And thy nether beards dispaire.
When thou speak'st I would not wrong,
Thy sweetnesse with a double tongue:
But in every single sound
A perfect Dialogue is found.
Thy breasts distinguish one another,
This the sister, that the brother.
When thou joyn'st hands, my eare still fancies
The Nuptiall sound, I Iohn take Frances:
Feele but the difference, soft and rough,
This a Gantlet, that a Muffe:
Had sly Ulysses, at the sack
Of Troy, brought thee his Pedlers pack,
And weapons too to know Achilles
From King Nicomedes Phillis,
His plot had fail'd; this hand would feele
The Needle, that the warlike steele.
When musick doth thy pace advance,
Thy right legge takes thy left to dance.
11
But a mixt dance, though alone.
Thus everie heteroclite part
Changes gender, but thy heart.
Nay those which modest can meane,
And dare not speake, are Epicœne;
That Gamester needs must over-come,
That can play both Tib, and Tom.
Thus did natures mintage vary,
Coyning thee a Philip and Mary.
Coyning thee a Philip and Mary.
The Authors Hermophrodite, made after M. Randolphs death, yet inserted into his Poems.
Probleme of Sexes; must thou likewise bee
As disputable in thy Pedigree?
Thou Twins-in-one, in whom Dame Nature tries
To throw lesse then Aumes-ace upon two dyes;
Wer't thou serv'd up two in one dish, the rather
To split thy Sire into a double father?
True, the worlds scales are even: what the maine
In one place gets, another quits againe.
Nature lost one by thee, and therefore must
Slice me in two, to keep her number just:
Plurality of livings is thy state,
And therefore mine must be impropriate.
For since the child is mine, and yet the claime
Is intercepted by anothers name,
Never did steeple carry double truer,
His is the Donative, and mine the Cure.
Then say my Muse (and without more dispute)
Who 'tis that fame doth superinstitute.
The Theban Wittoll when he once descries,
Jove is his rivall, falls to Sacrifice:
That name hath tipt his hornes: see on his knees
A health to Hans-en-Kelder Hercules.
Nay sublunary Cuckolds are content
To entertaine their Fate with complement;
And shall not he be proud whom Randolph daignes
To quarter with his Muse both armes and braines?
Gramercy Gossip? I rejoyce to see
Shee'th got a leap of such a Barbarie.
Talke not of hornes, hornes are the Poets crest:
For since the Muses left their former nest,
To found a Nunnerie in Randolphs quill,
Cuckold Parnassus is a forked hill.
As disputable in thy Pedigree?
Thou Twins-in-one, in whom Dame Nature tries
To throw lesse then Aumes-ace upon two dyes;
Wer't thou serv'd up two in one dish, the rather
To split thy Sire into a double father?
True, the worlds scales are even: what the maine
In one place gets, another quits againe.
Nature lost one by thee, and therefore must
Slice me in two, to keep her number just:
Plurality of livings is thy state,
And therefore mine must be impropriate.
For since the child is mine, and yet the claime
Is intercepted by anothers name,
12
His is the Donative, and mine the Cure.
Then say my Muse (and without more dispute)
Who 'tis that fame doth superinstitute.
The Theban Wittoll when he once descries,
Jove is his rivall, falls to Sacrifice:
That name hath tipt his hornes: see on his knees
A health to Hans-en-Kelder Hercules.
Nay sublunary Cuckolds are content
To entertaine their Fate with complement;
And shall not he be proud whom Randolph daignes
To quarter with his Muse both armes and braines?
Gramercy Gossip? I rejoyce to see
Shee'th got a leap of such a Barbarie.
Talke not of hornes, hornes are the Poets crest:
For since the Muses left their former nest,
To found a Nunnerie in Randolphs quill,
Cuckold Parnassus is a forked hill.
But stay I've wak't his dust, his Marble stirres,
And brings the wormes for his Compurgators.
Can Ghost have naturall Sons? say Ogg, is't meet
Pennance bear date after the winding sheet?
Were it a Phœnix (as the double kind
May seem to prove, being there's two combin'd)
It would disclaime my right: and that it were
The lawfull Issue of his ashes, sweare.
But was he dead? Did not his soule translate
Her selfe into a shop of lesser rate?
Or breake up house like an expensive Lord
That gives his purse a sob, and lives at board?
Let old Pythagoras but play the pimp,
And still there's hopes 'tmay prove his bastard imp.
But I'me prophane: For grant the world had one
With whom he might contract an union,
They two were one: yet like an Eagle spread,
I'th body joyn'd, but parted in the head.
And brings the wormes for his Compurgators.
Can Ghost have naturall Sons? say Ogg, is't meet
Pennance bear date after the winding sheet?
Were it a Phœnix (as the double kind
May seem to prove, being there's two combin'd)
It would disclaime my right: and that it were
The lawfull Issue of his ashes, sweare.
But was he dead? Did not his soule translate
Her selfe into a shop of lesser rate?
Or breake up house like an expensive Lord
That gives his purse a sob, and lives at board?
Let old Pythagoras but play the pimp,
And still there's hopes 'tmay prove his bastard imp.
13
With whom he might contract an union,
They two were one: yet like an Eagle spread,
I'th body joyn'd, but parted in the head.
For you my brat that pose the porph'ry Chaire,
Pope Iohn or Ioane, or whatsoe're you are,
You are a Nephew. Grieve not at your state,
For all the world is illegitimate.
Man cannot get a man unlesse the sun
Club to the act of Generation;
The sun and man get man, thus Tom and I
Are the joynt-fathers of my Poetry.
For since (blest shade) this Verse is Male, but mine
O'th' weaker Sex, a Fancy Fœminine;
Wee'l part the child, and yet commit no slaughter,
So shall it be thy Son, and yet my Daughter.
Pope Iohn or Ioane, or whatsoe're you are,
You are a Nephew. Grieve not at your state,
For all the world is illegitimate.
Man cannot get a man unlesse the sun
Club to the act of Generation;
The sun and man get man, thus Tom and I
Are the joynt-fathers of my Poetry.
For since (blest shade) this Verse is Male, but mine
O'th' weaker Sex, a Fancy Fœminine;
Wee'l part the child, and yet commit no slaughter,
So shall it be thy Son, and yet my Daughter.
Upon Phillis walking in a morning before Sun-rising.
The sluggish morne, as yet undrest,
My Phillis brake from out her East;
As if shee'd made a match to runne
With Venus Usher to the sunne.
The trees like yeomen of her guard,
Serving more for pomp then ward,
Rank't on each side with loyall duty,
Weave branches to inclose her beauty.
The Plants whose luxurie was lopt,
Or age with crutches underpropt;
Whose wooden carkases are grown
To be but coffins of their owne;
Revive, and at her generall dole
Each receives his antient soule.
The winged Choristers began
To chirp their Matins: and the Fan
Of whistling winds like Organs plai'd,
Untill their Voluntaries made
The wakened earth in Odours rise
To be her morning Sacrifice.
The flowers call'd out of their beds,
Start, and raise up their drowsie heads:
And he that for their colour seekes,
May finde it vaulting in her cheekes,
Where roses mix: no Civill War
Between her Yorke, and Lancaster.
The Mary-gold whose Courtiers face
Eccho's the sunne, and doth unlace
Her at his rise, at his full stop
Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop,
Mistakes her cue, and doth display.
Thus Phillis antidates the day.
My Phillis brake from out her East;
As if shee'd made a match to runne
With Venus Usher to the sunne.
The trees like yeomen of her guard,
Serving more for pomp then ward,
Rank't on each side with loyall duty,
Weave branches to inclose her beauty.
The Plants whose luxurie was lopt,
Or age with crutches underpropt;
14
To be but coffins of their owne;
Revive, and at her generall dole
Each receives his antient soule.
The winged Choristers began
To chirp their Matins: and the Fan
Of whistling winds like Organs plai'd,
Untill their Voluntaries made
The wakened earth in Odours rise
To be her morning Sacrifice.
The flowers call'd out of their beds,
Start, and raise up their drowsie heads:
And he that for their colour seekes,
May finde it vaulting in her cheekes,
Where roses mix: no Civill War
Between her Yorke, and Lancaster.
The Mary-gold whose Courtiers face
Eccho's the sunne, and doth unlace
Her at his rise, at his full stop
Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop,
Mistakes her cue, and doth display.
Thus Phillis antidates the day.
These miracles had cramp't the sunne,
Who thinking that his Kingdom's wonne,
Powders with light his frizled locks,
To see what Saint his lustre mocks.
The trembling leaves through which he plai'd,
Dapling the walke with light and shade,
Like Lattice-windowes, give the spye
Room but to peep with halfe an eye;
Least her full Orb his sight should dim,
And bids us all good-night in him,
Till she would spend a gentle ray
To force us a new fashion'd day.
But what religious Paulsie's this
Which makes the boughs divest their bliss?
And that they might her foot-steps strawe,
Drop their leaves with shivering awe.
Phillis perceives, and (least her stay
Should wed October unto May;
And as her beauty caus'd a Spring,
Devotion might an Autumne bring)
With-drew her beames, yet made no night,
But left the Sun her Curate-light.
Who thinking that his Kingdom's wonne,
Powders with light his frizled locks,
To see what Saint his lustre mocks.
The trembling leaves through which he plai'd,
Dapling the walke with light and shade,
Like Lattice-windowes, give the spye
Room but to peep with halfe an eye;
Least her full Orb his sight should dim,
And bids us all good-night in him,
15
To force us a new fashion'd day.
But what religious Paulsie's this
Which makes the boughs divest their bliss?
And that they might her foot-steps strawe,
Drop their leaves with shivering awe.
Phillis perceives, and (least her stay
Should wed October unto May;
And as her beauty caus'd a Spring,
Devotion might an Autumne bring)
With-drew her beames, yet made no night,
But left the Sun her Curate-light.
Upon a Miser that made a great Feast, and the next day dyed for griefe.
Nor 'scapes he so: our dinner was so good,
My liquorish Muse cannot but chew the cood:
And what delight shee tooke i'th' invitation,
Strives to tast o're again in this relation.
My liquorish Muse cannot but chew the cood:
And what delight shee tooke i'th' invitation,
Strives to tast o're again in this relation.
After a tedious Grace in Hopkins rithme,
Not for devotion, but to take up time,
March't the train'd-band of dishes usher'd there,
To shew their postures, and then As they were.
For he invites no teeth, perchance the eye
Hee will afford the Lovers gluttony;
Thus is the Feast a muster, not a fight;
Our weapons not for service, but for fight.
Not for devotion, but to take up time,
March't the train'd-band of dishes usher'd there,
To shew their postures, and then As they were.
For he invites no teeth, perchance the eye
Hee will afford the Lovers gluttony;
Thus is the Feast a muster, not a fight;
Our weapons not for service, but for fight.
But are we Tantaliz'd? is all this meat
Cook'd by a Limner for to view, not eat?
Th'Astrologers keep such Houses when they sup
On joynts of Taurus, or their heavenly Tup.
Whatever feasts he made are sum'd up here,
His table vyes not standing with his cheare.
His Churchings, Christ'nings, in this Meale are all,
And not transcrib'd, but i'th Originall.
Christmas is no Feast movable: for loe
The self-same dinner was ten years agoe:
'Twill be immortall if it longer stay,
The Gods will eat it for Ambrosia.
Cook'd by a Limner for to view, not eat?
16
On joynts of Taurus, or their heavenly Tup.
Whatever feasts he made are sum'd up here,
His table vyes not standing with his cheare.
His Churchings, Christ'nings, in this Meale are all,
And not transcrib'd, but i'th Originall.
Christmas is no Feast movable: for loe
The self-same dinner was ten years agoe:
'Twill be immortall if it longer stay,
The Gods will eat it for Ambrosia.
But stay a while; unlesse my whinyard faile,
Or it inchanted, I'le cut of th'intaile.
Saint George for England then: have at the mutton,
When the first cut calls me bloud-thirsty glutton:
What Ajax with his anger-quodl'd braine
Killing a sheep thought Agamemnon slaine:
The fiction's now prov'd true; wounding his roast,
I lamentably butcher up mine hoast.
Such sympathie is with his meat, my weapon
Makes him an Eunuch, when it carves his Capon.
Cut a Goose-legge, and the poore soule for moane
Turnes Creeple too, and after stands on one.
Or it inchanted, I'le cut of th'intaile.
Saint George for England then: have at the mutton,
When the first cut calls me bloud-thirsty glutton:
What Ajax with his anger-quodl'd braine
Killing a sheep thought Agamemnon slaine:
The fiction's now prov'd true; wounding his roast,
I lamentably butcher up mine hoast.
Such sympathie is with his meat, my weapon
Makes him an Eunuch, when it carves his Capon.
Cut a Goose-legge, and the poore soule for moane
Turnes Creeple too, and after stands on one.
Have you not heard th'abominable sport
A Lancaster grand Jurie will report?
The souldier with his Morglay watch't the Mill,
The Cats they came to feast, when lustie Will
Whips of great Pusses leg, which by some charme
Proves the next day such an old womans arme:
'Tis so with him whose karkase never 'scapes,
But still we slash him in a thousand shapes.
Our serving-men like Spaniels range, to spring
The fowle which he hath clock't under his-wing.
Should he on Widgeon, or on Woodcock feed,
It were (Thyestes-like) on his owne breed.
To poile he pleads a superstition due,
But not a mouth is muzled by the Jew.
Sawces we should have none, had he his wish,
The Oranges i'th margent of the dish
He with such Hucsters tells them o're and o're,
Th'Hesperian Dragon never watch them more.
A Lancaster grand Jurie will report?
The souldier with his Morglay watch't the Mill,
The Cats they came to feast, when lustie Will
Whips of great Pusses leg, which by some charme
Proves the next day such an old womans arme:
'Tis so with him whose karkase never 'scapes,
But still we slash him in a thousand shapes.
Our serving-men like Spaniels range, to spring
The fowle which he hath clock't under his-wing.
17
It were (Thyestes-like) on his owne breed.
To poile he pleads a superstition due,
But not a mouth is muzled by the Jew.
Sawces we should have none, had he his wish,
The Oranges i'th margent of the dish
He with such Hucsters tells them o're and o're,
Th'Hesperian Dragon never watch them more.
But being eaten now into dispaire,
Having nought else to doe, he falls to prayer:
As thou did'st once put on the forme of Bull,
And turn'st thy Io to a lovely Mull,
Defend my rump great Iove; grant this poor beefe
May live to comfort me in all this griefe.
But no Amen was said: See, see it comes,
Draw boyes, let Trumpets sound & strike up Drums.
See how his blood doth with the gravie swim,
And every trencher has a limb of him.
The Ven'son's now in view, our Hounds spend deeper,
Strange Deer, which in the Pasty hath a Keeper
Stricter then in the Park, making his guest
(As he had stoln't alive) to steale it drest:
The scent was hot; and we pursuing faster,
Then Ovids pack of dogs e're chas'd their Master,
A double prey at once we seize upon,
Actæon and his case of Venison:
Thus was he torne alive. To vex him worse,
Death serves him up now as a second coorse.
Having nought else to doe, he falls to prayer:
As thou did'st once put on the forme of Bull,
And turn'st thy Io to a lovely Mull,
Defend my rump great Iove; grant this poor beefe
May live to comfort me in all this griefe.
But no Amen was said: See, see it comes,
Draw boyes, let Trumpets sound & strike up Drums.
See how his blood doth with the gravie swim,
And every trencher has a limb of him.
The Ven'son's now in view, our Hounds spend deeper,
Strange Deer, which in the Pasty hath a Keeper
Stricter then in the Park, making his guest
(As he had stoln't alive) to steale it drest:
The scent was hot; and we pursuing faster,
Then Ovids pack of dogs e're chas'd their Master,
A double prey at once we seize upon,
Actæon and his case of Venison:
Thus was he torne alive. To vex him worse,
Death serves him up now as a second coorse.
Should we, like Thrasians, our dead bodies eat,
He would have liv'd only to save his meat.
He would have liv'd only to save his meat.
18
A young Man to an old Woman Courting him.
Peace Beldam Eve: surcease thy suit,
There's no temptation in such fruit.
No rotten Medlers, whil'st there be
Whole Orchards in Virginitie.
Thy stock is too much out of date
For tender plants t'inoculate.
A match with thee thy bridegroome fears
Would be thought Int'rest in his years,
Which when compar'd to thine, become
Odd money to thy Grandam summe.
Can Wedlock know so great a curse
As putting husbands out to Nurse?
How Pond and Rivers would mistake,
And cry new Almanacks for our sake?
Time sure hath wheel'd about his yeare,
December meeting Ianivere.
The Ægyptian Serpent figures time,
And stript, returnes unto his Prime:
If my affection thou would'st win,
First cast thy Hieroglyphick skin.
My moderne lips know not (alack)
The old Religion of thy smack.
I count that primitive embrace,
As out of fashion as thy face.
And yet so long 'tis since thy fall,
Thy Fornication's Classicall.
Our sports will differ: thou must play
Leero, and I Alphonso way.
I'me no translator; have no veine
To turne a woman young againe:
Unlesse you'l grant the Tailors due,
To see the forebodies be new:
I love to weare cloathes that are flush,
Not prefacing old rags with plush:
Like Aldermen, or Monster Shreeves,
With Canvas Backs, and Velvet Sleeves.
And just such discord there would be
Betwixt thy Skeleton and me.
There's no temptation in such fruit.
No rotten Medlers, whil'st there be
Whole Orchards in Virginitie.
Thy stock is too much out of date
For tender plants t'inoculate.
A match with thee thy bridegroome fears
Would be thought Int'rest in his years,
Which when compar'd to thine, become
Odd money to thy Grandam summe.
Can Wedlock know so great a curse
As putting husbands out to Nurse?
How Pond and Rivers would mistake,
And cry new Almanacks for our sake?
Time sure hath wheel'd about his yeare,
December meeting Ianivere.
The Ægyptian Serpent figures time,
And stript, returnes unto his Prime:
If my affection thou would'st win,
First cast thy Hieroglyphick skin.
My moderne lips know not (alack)
The old Religion of thy smack.
I count that primitive embrace,
As out of fashion as thy face.
And yet so long 'tis since thy fall,
Thy Fornication's Classicall.
Our sports will differ: thou must play
Leero, and I Alphonso way.
19
To turne a woman young againe:
Unlesse you'l grant the Tailors due,
To see the forebodies be new:
I love to weare cloathes that are flush,
Not prefacing old rags with plush:
Like Aldermen, or Monster Shreeves,
With Canvas Backs, and Velvet Sleeves.
And just such discord there would be
Betwixt thy Skeleton and me.
Goe study Salve and Treacle, ply
Your Tenants leg, or his sore eye;
Thus Matrons purchase credit, thank
Six penny-worth of Mountebank.
Or chew thy cood on some delight
Thou takest in thy Eighty Eight.
Or be but Bedrid once, and then
Thou'lt dream thy youthfull sinnes agen.
But if thou needs will be my Spouse,
First hearken, and attend my Vowes:
“When Ætna's fires shall undergo
“The penance of the Alpes in snow,
“When Sol at one blast of his horne
“Posts from the Crab to Capricorne,
“When th'heavens shuffle all in one;
“The Torrid with the Frozen Zone;
“When all these contradictions meet,
“Then (Sybill) thou and I will greet.
For all these similies do hold
In my young heat and thy dull cold;
Then if a Feaver be so good
A Pimp, as to inflame thy blood,
Hymen shall twist thee and thy Page,
The distinct Tropicks of Mans age.
Your Tenants leg, or his sore eye;
Thus Matrons purchase credit, thank
Six penny-worth of Mountebank.
Or chew thy cood on some delight
Thou takest in thy Eighty Eight.
Or be but Bedrid once, and then
Thou'lt dream thy youthfull sinnes agen.
But if thou needs will be my Spouse,
First hearken, and attend my Vowes:
“When Ætna's fires shall undergo
“The penance of the Alpes in snow,
“When Sol at one blast of his horne
“Posts from the Crab to Capricorne,
“When th'heavens shuffle all in one;
“The Torrid with the Frozen Zone;
“When all these contradictions meet,
“Then (Sybill) thou and I will greet.
For all these similies do hold
In my young heat and thy dull cold;
Then if a Feaver be so good
A Pimp, as to inflame thy blood,
20
The distinct Tropicks of Mans age.
Well (Madam Time) be ever bald,
I'le not thy Perywig be call'd:
I'le never be, 'stead of a Lover,
An aged Chronicles new Cover.
I'le not thy Perywig be call'd:
I'le never be, 'stead of a Lover,
An aged Chronicles new Cover.
To Mrs. K. T. who askt him why hee was dumb.
Stay, should I answer (Lady) then
In vaine would be your question.
Should I be dumb, why then againe
Your asking me would be in vaine.
Silence nor speech (on neither hand)
Can satisfie this strange demand.
Yet since your will throwes me upon
This wished contradiction,
I'le tell you how I did become
So strangely (as you heare mee) dumb.
In vaine would be your question.
Should I be dumb, why then againe
Your asking me would be in vaine.
Silence nor speech (on neither hand)
Can satisfie this strange demand.
Yet since your will throwes me upon
This wished contradiction,
I'le tell you how I did become
So strangely (as you heare mee) dumb.
Ask but the Chap-falne Puritan,
'Tis zeale that tongue-ties that good man:
For heat of Conscience, all men hold,
Is th'onely way to catch that cold.
How should loves zealot then forbear
To be your silenc'd Minister?
Nav your Religion which doth grant
A worship due to you my Saint,
Yet counts it that devotion wrong
That does it in the vulgar tongue.
My ruder words would give offence
To such an hallow'd excellence;
As th'English Dialect would vary
The goodnesse of an Ave Mary.
'Tis zeale that tongue-ties that good man:
For heat of Conscience, all men hold,
Is th'onely way to catch that cold.
How should loves zealot then forbear
To be your silenc'd Minister?
Nav your Religion which doth grant
A worship due to you my Saint,
Yet counts it that devotion wrong
That does it in the vulgar tongue.
21
To such an hallow'd excellence;
As th'English Dialect would vary
The goodnesse of an Ave Mary.
How can I speake, that twice am checkt
By this and that religious Sect?
Still dumb, and in your face I spie
Still cause, and still Divinitie.
As soone as blest with your salute,
My Manners taught mee to be mute:
For, least they cancell all the blisse
You sign'd with so divine a kisse,
The lips you seale must needs consent
Unto the tongues imprisonment.
My tongue in hold, my voice doth rise
(With a strange E-la) to my eyes;
Where a gets Baile, and in that sense
Begins a new-found Eloquence.
By this and that religious Sect?
Still dumb, and in your face I spie
Still cause, and still Divinitie.
As soone as blest with your salute,
My Manners taught mee to be mute:
For, least they cancell all the blisse
You sign'd with so divine a kisse,
The lips you seale must needs consent
Unto the tongues imprisonment.
My tongue in hold, my voice doth rise
(With a strange E-la) to my eyes;
Where a gets Baile, and in that sense
Begins a new-found Eloquence.
Oh listen with attentive sight
To what my pratling eyes indite.
Or (Lady) since 'tis in your choice,
To give, or to suspend my voice,
With the same key set ope the doore
Wherewith you lockt it fast before;
Kisse once againe, and when you thus
Have doubly beene miraculous,
My Muse shall write with Handmaids duty
The Golden Legend of your Beauty.
He whom his dumbnesse now confines,
To what my pratling eyes indite.
Or (Lady) since 'tis in your choice,
To give, or to suspend my voice,
With the same key set ope the doore
Wherewith you lockt it fast before;
Kisse once againe, and when you thus
Have doubly beene miraculous,
My Muse shall write with Handmaids duty
The Golden Legend of your Beauty.
But meanes to speake the rest by signes.
22
A Faire Nimph scorning a Black Boy Courting her.
Nymph.Stand off, and let me take the aire,
Why should the smoak pursue the faire?
Boy.
My face is smoak, thence may be guest
What flames within have scorch'd my brest.
Nymph.
The flame of love I cannot view,
For the dark Lanthorne of thy hue.
Boy.
And yet this Lanthorne keeps loves Taper
Surer then yours, that's of white paper.
Whatever Midnight hath been here,
The Moon-shine of your light can cleare.
Nymph.
My Moon of an Ecclipse is 'fraid,
If thou should'st interpose thy shade.
Boy.
Yet one thing (sweet-heart) I will ask,
Buy me for a new false Mask.
Nymph.
Yes: but my bargaine shall be this,
I'le throw my Maske off when I kiss.
Boy.
Our curl'd embraces shall delight
To checquer limbs with black, and white.
Nymph.
Thy inke, my paper, make me guesse,
Our Nuptiall bed will make a Presse;
And in our sports, if any came,
They'l read a wanton Epigram.
Boy.
Why should my Black thy love impaire?
Let the darke shop commend thy ware:
Or if thy love from black forbeares,
I'le strive to wash it of with teares.
Nymph.
Spare fruitless teares, since thou must needs
Still weare about thee mourning weeds:
23
Then wash thy Æthiopian skin.
A Dialogue between two Zealots, upon the &c. in the Oath.
Sir
Roger, from a zealous piece of Freeze,
Rais'd to a Vicar of the Chldrens threes;
Whose yearely Audit may, by strict accompt,
To twenty Nobles, and his Vailes amount;
Fed on the Common of the femal charity,
Untill the Scots can bring about their parity;
So shotten, that his soule, like to himselfe,
Walks but in Querpo: This same Clergie Else,
Encount'ring with a Brother of the Cloth,
Fell presently to Cudgells with the Oath.
The Quarrell was a strange mis-shapen Monster,
&c. (God blesse us) which they conster,
The Brand upon the buttock of the Beast,
The Dragons taile ti'd on a knot, a neast
Of young Apocryphaes, the fashion
Of a new mentall Reservation.
Rais'd to a Vicar of the Chldrens threes;
Whose yearely Audit may, by strict accompt,
To twenty Nobles, and his Vailes amount;
Fed on the Common of the femal charity,
Untill the Scots can bring about their parity;
So shotten, that his soule, like to himselfe,
Walks but in Querpo: This same Clergie Else,
Encount'ring with a Brother of the Cloth,
Fell presently to Cudgells with the Oath.
The Quarrell was a strange mis-shapen Monster,
&c. (God blesse us) which they conster,
The Brand upon the buttock of the Beast,
The Dragons taile ti'd on a knot, a neast
Of young Apocryphaes, the fashion
Of a new mentall Reservation.
While Roger thus divides the Text, the other
Winks and expounds, saying, My pious Brother,
Hearken with reverence; for the point is nice,
I never read on't, but I fasted twice,
And so by Revelation know it better
Then all the learn'd Idolaters o'th' Letter.
With that he swell'd, and fell upon the Theame,
Like great Goliah with his Weavers beame:
I say to thee &c. thou li'st,
Thou art the curled locke of Antichrist:
Rubbish of Babell, for who will not say
Tongues were confounded in &c.?
Who sweares &c. sweares more oathes at once
Then Cerberus out of his Triple Sconce.
Who views it well, with the same eye beholds
The old halfe Serpent in his numerous foulds.
Accurst &c. thou, for now I scent
What lately the prodigious Oysters meant.
Oh Booker, Booker, how cam'st thou to lack
This signe in thy Prophetick Almanack?
It's the darke Vault wherein th'infernall plot
Of powder 'gainst the State was first begot.
Peruse the Oath, and you shall soone descry it
By all the Father Garnets that stand by it.
'Gainst whom the Church, whereof I am a Member,
Shall keep another fifth day of November.
Yet here's not all, I cannot halfe untruss
&c. it's so abominous.
The Trojan Nag was not so fully lin'd,
Unrip &c. and you shall find
Og the great Commissarie, and which is worse,
Th'Apparatour upon his skew-bald Horse.
Then (finally my Babe of Grace) forbeare,
&c. will be too farre to sweare:
For 'tis (to speake in a familliar stile)
A Yorkshire Wea-bit, longer then a mile.
Winks and expounds, saying, My pious Brother,
Hearken with reverence; for the point is nice,
I never read on't, but I fasted twice,
And so by Revelation know it better
Then all the learn'd Idolaters o'th' Letter.
With that he swell'd, and fell upon the Theame,
Like great Goliah with his Weavers beame:
24
Thou art the curled locke of Antichrist:
Rubbish of Babell, for who will not say
Tongues were confounded in &c.?
Who sweares &c. sweares more oathes at once
Then Cerberus out of his Triple Sconce.
Who views it well, with the same eye beholds
The old halfe Serpent in his numerous foulds.
Accurst &c. thou, for now I scent
What lately the prodigious Oysters meant.
Oh Booker, Booker, how cam'st thou to lack
This signe in thy Prophetick Almanack?
It's the darke Vault wherein th'infernall plot
Of powder 'gainst the State was first begot.
Peruse the Oath, and you shall soone descry it
By all the Father Garnets that stand by it.
'Gainst whom the Church, whereof I am a Member,
Shall keep another fifth day of November.
Yet here's not all, I cannot halfe untruss
&c. it's so abominous.
The Trojan Nag was not so fully lin'd,
Unrip &c. and you shall find
Og the great Commissarie, and which is worse,
Th'Apparatour upon his skew-bald Horse.
Then (finally my Babe of Grace) forbeare,
&c. will be too farre to sweare:
For 'tis (to speake in a familliar stile)
A Yorkshire Wea-bit, longer then a mile.
Then Roger was inspir'd, and by Gods-diggers,
Hee'l sweare in words at large, and not in figures.
Now by this drinke, which he takes off, as loth
To leave &c. in his liquid Oath.
His brother pledg'd him, and that bloody wine,
He swears shall seal the Synods Cataline.
So they drunk on, not offering to part
Til they had quite sworn out th'eleventh quart:
While all that saw and heard them joyntly pray,
They and their Tribe were all &c.
Hee'l sweare in words at large, and not in figures.
Now by this drinke, which he takes off, as loth
To leave &c. in his liquid Oath.
25
He swears shall seal the Synods Cataline.
So they drunk on, not offering to part
Til they had quite sworn out th'eleventh quart:
While all that saw and heard them joyntly pray,
They and their Tribe were all &c.
Smectymnuus, or the Club-Divines.
Smectymnuus?
The Goblin makes me start:
I'th' Name of Rabbi Abraham, what art?
Syriac? or Arabick? or Welsh? what skilt?
Ap all the Bricklayers that Babell built.
Some Conjurer translate, and let me know it:
Till then 'tis fit for a West-Saxon Poet.
But doe the Brother-hood then play their prizes,
Like Mummers in Religion with disguises?
Out-brave us with a name in Rank and File,
A Name which if 'twere train'd would spread a mile?
The Saints Monopolie, the zealous Cluster,
Which like a Porcupine presents a Muster,
And shoots his quills at Bishops and their Sees,
A devout litter of young Maccabees.
Thus Jack-of-all-trades, hath devoutly showne
The twelve Apostles on a Cherry-stone.
Thus Faction's All-a-Mode in Treasons fashion;
Now we have Heresie by Complication.
Like to Don Quixots Rosary of Slaves
Strung on a chaine; a Murnivall of Knaves
Packt in a Trick; like Gypsies when they ride,
Or like Colleagues which sit all of a side:
So the vaine Satyrists stand all a row,
As hallow teeth upon a Lute-string show.
Th'Italian Monster pregnant with his Brother,
Natures Dyæresis, halfe one another,
He, with his little Sides-man Lazarus,
Must both give way unto Smectymnuus.
Next Strubridge-Faire is Smec's; for loe his side
Into a five fold Lazar's multipli'd.
Under each arme there's tuckt a double Gyssard,
Five faces lurke under one single vizzard.
The Whore of Babylon left these brats behind,
Heires of Confusion by Gavelt-kind.
I think Pythagoras's soule is rambl'd hither,
With all the change of Rayment on together:
Since is her generall Wardrobe, shee'l not dare
To thinke of him as of a thorough-fare;
He stops the Gossopping Dame; alone he is
The Purlew of a Metempsuchosis.
Like a Scotch Marke, where the more modest sense
Checks the loud phrase, & shrinks to thirteen pence:
Like to an Ignis fatuus, whose flame
Though sometimes tripartite, joynes in the same:
Like to nine Taylors, who if rightly spelled,
Into one man, are monosyllabled.
Short-handed zeale in one hath cramped many,
Like to the Decalogue in a single penny.
I'th' Name of Rabbi Abraham, what art?
Syriac? or Arabick? or Welsh? what skilt?
Ap all the Bricklayers that Babell built.
Some Conjurer translate, and let me know it:
Till then 'tis fit for a West-Saxon Poet.
But doe the Brother-hood then play their prizes,
Like Mummers in Religion with disguises?
Out-brave us with a name in Rank and File,
A Name which if 'twere train'd would spread a mile?
The Saints Monopolie, the zealous Cluster,
Which like a Porcupine presents a Muster,
And shoots his quills at Bishops and their Sees,
A devout litter of young Maccabees.
Thus Jack-of-all-trades, hath devoutly showne
The twelve Apostles on a Cherry-stone.
Thus Faction's All-a-Mode in Treasons fashion;
Now we have Heresie by Complication.
Like to Don Quixots Rosary of Slaves
Strung on a chaine; a Murnivall of Knaves
Packt in a Trick; like Gypsies when they ride,
Or like Colleagues which sit all of a side:
26
As hallow teeth upon a Lute-string show.
Th'Italian Monster pregnant with his Brother,
Natures Dyæresis, halfe one another,
He, with his little Sides-man Lazarus,
Must both give way unto Smectymnuus.
Next Strubridge-Faire is Smec's; for loe his side
Into a five fold Lazar's multipli'd.
Under each arme there's tuckt a double Gyssard,
Five faces lurke under one single vizzard.
The Whore of Babylon left these brats behind,
Heires of Confusion by Gavelt-kind.
I think Pythagoras's soule is rambl'd hither,
With all the change of Rayment on together:
Since is her generall Wardrobe, shee'l not dare
To thinke of him as of a thorough-fare;
He stops the Gossopping Dame; alone he is
The Purlew of a Metempsuchosis.
Like a Scotch Marke, where the more modest sense
Checks the loud phrase, & shrinks to thirteen pence:
Like to an Ignis fatuus, whose flame
Though sometimes tripartite, joynes in the same:
Like to nine Taylors, who if rightly spelled,
Into one man, are monosyllabled.
Short-handed zeale in one hath cramped many,
Like to the Decalogue in a single penny.
See, see, how close the Curs hunt under a sheet,
As if they speak in Quire, and scan'd their feet;
One Cure and five Incumbents leap a Truss,
The title sure must be litigious.
The Sadduces would raise a question,
Who must be Smec at th'Resurrection.
Who cook'd them up together were to blame,
Had they but wyre-drawne, and spun out their name,
'Twould make another Prentises Petition
Against the Bishops, and their Superstition.
As if they speak in Quire, and scan'd their feet;
One Cure and five Incumbents leap a Truss,
The title sure must be litigious.
The Sadduces would raise a question,
Who must be Smec at th'Resurrection.
27
Had they but wyre-drawne, and spun out their name,
'Twould make another Prentises Petition
Against the Bishops, and their Superstition.
Robson and French (that count from five to five,
As farre as nature fingers did contrive,
Shee saw they would be Seffers; that's the cause
Shee cleft their hoof into so many clawes)
May tire their Carret-bunch, yet ne're agree
To rate Smectymnuus for Polemonie.
As farre as nature fingers did contrive,
Shee saw they would be Seffers; that's the cause
Shee cleft their hoof into so many clawes)
May tire their Carret-bunch, yet ne're agree
To rate Smectymnuus for Polemonie.
Caligula, whose pride was Mankinds Baile,
As who disdain'd to murder by retaile,
Wishing the world had but one generall Neck,
His glutton blade might have found game in Smec.
No Eccho can improve the Authour more,
Whose lungs payes use on use to halfe a score.
No Fellon is more letter'd, though the brand
Both superscribes his shoulder and his hand.
Some Welch-man was his Godfather; for he
Weares in his name his Genealogie.
As who disdain'd to murder by retaile,
Wishing the world had but one generall Neck,
His glutton blade might have found game in Smec.
No Eccho can improve the Authour more,
Whose lungs payes use on use to halfe a score.
No Fellon is more letter'd, though the brand
Both superscribes his shoulder and his hand.
Some Welch-man was his Godfather; for he
Weares in his name his Genealogie.
The Banes are askt, would but the times give way,
Betwixt Smectymnuus, and Etcætera.
The Guests invited by a friendly Summons,
Should be the Convocation, and the Commons.
The Priest to tie the Foxes tailes together,
Moseley, or Sancta Clara, chuse you whether.
See, what an off-spring every one expects?
What strange pluralities of Men and Sects?
One sayes hee'l get a Vestery; another
Is for a Synod: Bet upon the Mother.
Faith cry St. George, let them go to't, and stickle,
Whether a Conclave, or a Conventicle.
Thus might Religions caterwaule, and spight,
Which uses to divorce, might once unite.
But their crosse fortunes interdict their trade;
The Groome is Rampant, but the Bride displai'd.
Betwixt Smectymnuus, and Etcætera.
The Guests invited by a friendly Summons,
Should be the Convocation, and the Commons.
The Priest to tie the Foxes tailes together,
Moseley, or Sancta Clara, chuse you whether.
See, what an off-spring every one expects?
What strange pluralities of Men and Sects?
One sayes hee'l get a Vestery; another
Is for a Synod: Bet upon the Mother.
Faith cry St. George, let them go to't, and stickle,
Whether a Conclave, or a Conventicle.
28
Which uses to divorce, might once unite.
But their crosse fortunes interdict their trade;
The Groome is Rampant, but the Bride displai'd.
My task is done; all my hee-Goats are milkt;
So many Gards i'th stock, and yet be bilkt?
I could by Letters now untwist the rable;
Whip Smec from Constable to Constable.
But there I leave you to another dressing,
Onely kneel downe, and take your Fathers blessing.
So many Gards i'th stock, and yet be bilkt?
I could by Letters now untwist the rable;
Whip Smec from Constable to Constable.
But there I leave you to another dressing,
Onely kneel downe, and take your Fathers blessing.
May the Queen-Mother justifie your feares,
And stretch her Patent to your leather-eares.
And stretch her Patent to your leather-eares.
The Mixt Assembly.
Fleabitten Synod: an Assembly brew'd
Of Clerks and Elders ana, like the rude
Chaos of Presbyt'ry, where Lay-men guide
With the tame Woolpack Clergie by their side.
Who askt the Banes 'twixt these discolour'd Mates?
A strange Grottesco this, the Church and States
(Most divine tick-tack) in a pye-bald crew,
To serve as table-men of divers hue.
Shee that conceiv'd an Æthiopian heire
By picture, when the parents both were faire,
At sight of you had borne a dappl'd son.
You chequering her 'magination.
Had Jacobs flock but seen you sit, the dams
Had brought forth speckled and ringstreaked lambs.
Like an Impropriatours Motley kind,
VVhose Scarlet Coat is with a Cassock lin'd.
Like the Lay-thiefe in a Canonick weed,
Sure of his Clergie e're he did the deed.
Like Royston Crowes, who are (as I may say)
Friers of both the Orders Black and Gray.
So mixt they are, one knowes not whether's thicker,
A Layre of Burgesse, or a Layre of Vicar.
Of Clerks and Elders ana, like the rude
Chaos of Presbyt'ry, where Lay-men guide
With the tame Woolpack Clergie by their side.
Who askt the Banes 'twixt these discolour'd Mates?
A strange Grottesco this, the Church and States
(Most divine tick-tack) in a pye-bald crew,
To serve as table-men of divers hue.
Shee that conceiv'd an Æthiopian heire
By picture, when the parents both were faire,
At sight of you had borne a dappl'd son.
You chequering her 'magination.
Had Jacobs flock but seen you sit, the dams
Had brought forth speckled and ringstreaked lambs.
Like an Impropriatours Motley kind,
VVhose Scarlet Coat is with a Cassock lin'd.
29
Sure of his Clergie e're he did the deed.
Like Royston Crowes, who are (as I may say)
Friers of both the Orders Black and Gray.
So mixt they are, one knowes not whether's thicker,
A Layre of Burgesse, or a Layre of Vicar.
Have they usurp'd what Royall Judah had?
And now must Levi too part stakes with Gad?
The Scepter and the Crosier are the Crutches,
VVhich if not trusted in their pious Clutches,
Will faile the Criple State. And were't not pity
But both should serve the yardwand of the City?
That Isaac might stroke his beard, and sit
Judge of εις αδου and Elegerit.
Oh that they were in chalk and charcole drawne!
The Misselany Satyr, and the Fawne,
And all th'Adulteries of twisted nature
But faintly represent this ridling feature,
VVhose Members being not Tallies, they'l not own
Their fellowes at the Resurrection.
Strange Scarlet Doctors these, they'l passe in Story
For sinners halfe refin'd in Purgatory;
Or parboyl'd Lobsters, where there joyntly rules
The fading Sables and the coming Gules.
The flea that Falstaffe damn'd, thus lewdly shewes
Tormented in the flames of Bardolphs Nose.
Like him that wore the Dialogue of Cloaks,
This shoulder Iohn a Styles, that Iohn a Noaks.
Like Jewes and Christians in a ship together,
With an old Neck-verse to distinguish either.
Like their intended Discipline to boot,
Or Whatsoe're hath neither head nor foot:
Such may these strip't-stuffe hangings seem to be,
Sacriledge matcht with Codpeece-Symony;
Be sick and dream a little, you may then
Phansie these Linsie-Woolsie Vestry-men.
And now must Levi too part stakes with Gad?
The Scepter and the Crosier are the Crutches,
VVhich if not trusted in their pious Clutches,
Will faile the Criple State. And were't not pity
But both should serve the yardwand of the City?
That Isaac might stroke his beard, and sit
Judge of εις αδου and Elegerit.
Oh that they were in chalk and charcole drawne!
The Misselany Satyr, and the Fawne,
And all th'Adulteries of twisted nature
But faintly represent this ridling feature,
VVhose Members being not Tallies, they'l not own
Their fellowes at the Resurrection.
Strange Scarlet Doctors these, they'l passe in Story
For sinners halfe refin'd in Purgatory;
Or parboyl'd Lobsters, where there joyntly rules
The fading Sables and the coming Gules.
The flea that Falstaffe damn'd, thus lewdly shewes
Tormented in the flames of Bardolphs Nose.
Like him that wore the Dialogue of Cloaks,
This shoulder Iohn a Styles, that Iohn a Noaks.
Like Jewes and Christians in a ship together,
With an old Neck-verse to distinguish either.
Like their intended Discipline to boot,
Or Whatsoe're hath neither head nor foot:
30
Sacriledge matcht with Codpeece-Symony;
Be sick and dream a little, you may then
Phansie these Linsie-Woolsie Vestry-men.
Forbeare good Pembroke, be not over-daring,
Such Company may chance to spoile thy swearing:
And these Drum-Major oaths of Bulke unruly,
May dwindle to a feeble By my truly.
Hee that the Noble Percyes blood inherits,
Will he strike up a Hotspur of the spirits?
Hee'l fright the Obadiahs out of tune,
VVith his uncircumcised Algernoon.
A name so stubborne, 'tis not to be scan'd
By him in Gath with the six finger'd hand.
Such Company may chance to spoile thy swearing:
And these Drum-Major oaths of Bulke unruly,
May dwindle to a feeble By my truly.
Hee that the Noble Percyes blood inherits,
Will he strike up a Hotspur of the spirits?
Hee'l fright the Obadiahs out of tune,
VVith his uncircumcised Algernoon.
A name so stubborne, 'tis not to be scan'd
By him in Gath with the six finger'd hand.
See, they obey the Magick of my words.
Presto; they're gone. And now the House of Lords
Looks like the wither'd face of an old hagg,
But with three teeth, like to a triple gagg.
Presto; they're gone. And now the House of Lords
Looks like the wither'd face of an old hagg,
But with three teeth, like to a triple gagg.
A Jig, a Jig: And in this Antick dance
Fielding, and doxy Marshall first advance.
Twiss blowes the Scotch pipes, and the loving brase
Puts on the traces, and treads Cinqu-a-pace.
Then Say and Seale must his old Hamstrings supple,
And he and rumpl'd Palmer make a couple.
Palmer's a fruitfull girle, if hee'l unfold her,
The Midwife may finde worke about her shoulder.
Kimbolton, that rebellious Boanerges,
Must be content to saddle Doctor Burges.
If Burges get a clap, 'tis ne're the worse,
But the fift time of his Compurgators.
Nol Bowles is coy; good sadnesse cannot dance
But in obedience to the Ordinance,
Her Wharton wheels about till Mumping Lidy,
Like the full Moone, hath made his Lordship giddy.
Pym and the Members must their giblets levy
T'incounter Madam Smec, that single Bevy.
If they two truck together, 'will not be
A Childbirth, but a Gaole-Deliverie.
Thus every Gibeline hath got his Guelph,
But Selden, hee's a Galliard by himself,
And well may be; there's more Divines in him
Then in all this their Jewish Sanhedrim:
Whose Canons in the forge shall then bear date,
VVhen Mules their Cosin-Germanes generate.
Thus Moses Law is violated now,
The Ox and Asse go yok'd in the same plough.
Resign thy Coach-box Twisse; Brook's Preacher, he
VVould sort the beasts with more conformity.
Fielding, and doxy Marshall first advance.
Twiss blowes the Scotch pipes, and the loving brase
Puts on the traces, and treads Cinqu-a-pace.
Then Say and Seale must his old Hamstrings supple,
And he and rumpl'd Palmer make a couple.
Palmer's a fruitfull girle, if hee'l unfold her,
The Midwife may finde worke about her shoulder.
Kimbolton, that rebellious Boanerges,
Must be content to saddle Doctor Burges.
If Burges get a clap, 'tis ne're the worse,
But the fift time of his Compurgators.
Nol Bowles is coy; good sadnesse cannot dance
But in obedience to the Ordinance,
31
Like the full Moone, hath made his Lordship giddy.
Pym and the Members must their giblets levy
T'incounter Madam Smec, that single Bevy.
If they two truck together, 'will not be
A Childbirth, but a Gaole-Deliverie.
Thus every Gibeline hath got his Guelph,
But Selden, hee's a Galliard by himself,
And well may be; there's more Divines in him
Then in all this their Jewish Sanhedrim:
Whose Canons in the forge shall then bear date,
VVhen Mules their Cosin-Germanes generate.
Thus Moses Law is violated now,
The Ox and Asse go yok'd in the same plough.
Resign thy Coach-box Twisse; Brook's Preacher, he
VVould sort the beasts with more conformity.
Water & earth make but one Globe, a Roundhead
Is Clergy-Lay Party-per-pale compounded.
Is Clergy-Lay Party-per-pale compounded.
The Kings Disguise.
And why a Tenant to this vile disguise,
Which who but sees blasphemes thee with his eyes?
My twins of light within their pent-house shrinke,
And hold it their Alleageance now to winke.
Oh for a State-distinction to arraigne
Charles of high Treason 'gainst my Soveraigne.
VVhat an usurper to his Prince is wont,
Cloyster and shave him, he himselfe hath don't.
His muffled feature speakes him a recluse,
His ruines prove him a religious house.
The Sun hath mew'd his beames from off his lamp,
And Majesty defac'd the Royall stamp.
Is't not enough thy Dignity's in thrall,
But thou'lt transmute it in thy shape and all?
As if thy Blacks were of too faint a die,
Without the tincture of Tautologie.
Flay an Egyptian for his Cassock skin
Spun of his Countreys darknesse, line't within
With Presbyterian budge, that drowsie trance,
The Synods sable, foggy ignorance.
Nor bodily nor ghostly Negro could
Rough-cast thy figure in a sadder mould:
This Privie-chamber of thy shape would be
But the Close mourner of thy Royaltie.
'Twill breake the circle of thy Jailors spell,
A Pearle within a rugged Oysters shell.
Heaven, which the Minster of thy Person owns,
Will fine thee for Dilapidations.
Like to a martyr'd Abbeys courser doome,
Devoutly alter'd to a Pigeon roome:
Or like the Colledge by the changeling rabble,
Manchesters Elves, transform'd into a Stable.
Or if there be a prophanation higher,
Such is the Sacriledge of thine Attire.
By which th'art halfe depos'd, thou look'st like one
Whose looks are under Sequestration.
Whose Renegado form, at the first glance,
Shews like the self-denying Ordinance.
Angell of light, and darknesse too, I doubt,
Inspir'd within, and yet posses'd without.
Majestick twilight in the state of grace,
Yet with an excommunicated face.
Charles and his Maske are of a different mint,
A Psalme of mercy in a miscreant print.
The Sun wears Nidnight, Day is Beetle-brow'd,
And Lightning is in Keldar of a cloud.
Oh the accurst Stenographie of fate!
The Princely Eagle shrunke into a Bat.
What charme, what Magick vapour can it be
That shrinks his rayes to this Apostasie?
It is no subtile filme of tiffany ayre,
No Cob-web vizard, such as Ladies weare,
When they are veyl'd on purpose to be seene,
Doubling their lustre by their vanquisht Skreene:
Nor the false scabberd of a Princes tough
Metall, and three-pil'd darknesse, like the slough
Of an imprisoned flame, 'tis Faux in graine,
Darke Lanthorn to our high Meridian.
Hell belcht the damp, the Warwick-Castle-Vote
Rang Britains Curfeu, so our light went out.
Thy visage is not legible, the letters,
Like a Lords name, writ in phantastick setters:
Cloathes where a Switzer might be buried quicke,
Sure they would fit the Body Politique.
False beard enough, to fit a stages plot,
For that's the ambush of their wit, God wot.
Nay all his properties so strange appeare,
Y'are not i'th' presence, though the King be there.
A Libell is his dresse, a garb uncouth,
Such as the Hue and Cry once purg'd at mouth.
Scribling Assasinate, thy lines attest
An eare-mark due; Cub of the Blatant Beast,
VVhose breath before 'tis syllabled for worse,
Is blasphemy unfledg'd, a callow curse.
The Laplanders when they would sell a wind
Wafting to hell, bag up thy phrase, and bind
It to the Barque, which at the voyage end
Shifts Poop, and brings the Collick in the fiend.
But I'le not dub thee with a glorious scar,
Nor sinke thy Skuller with a Man of War.
The black-mouth'd Si quis, and this slandering suite,
Both doe alike in picture execute.
But since w'are all call'd Papist, why not date,
Devotion to the rags thus consecrate.
As Temples use to have their Porches wrought
With Sphynxes, creatures of an antick draught,
And puzling Pourtraitures, to shew that there
Riddles inhabited, the like is here.
Which who but sees blasphemes thee with his eyes?
My twins of light within their pent-house shrinke,
And hold it their Alleageance now to winke.
Oh for a State-distinction to arraigne
Charles of high Treason 'gainst my Soveraigne.
VVhat an usurper to his Prince is wont,
Cloyster and shave him, he himselfe hath don't.
His muffled feature speakes him a recluse,
His ruines prove him a religious house.
32
And Majesty defac'd the Royall stamp.
Is't not enough thy Dignity's in thrall,
But thou'lt transmute it in thy shape and all?
As if thy Blacks were of too faint a die,
Without the tincture of Tautologie.
Flay an Egyptian for his Cassock skin
Spun of his Countreys darknesse, line't within
With Presbyterian budge, that drowsie trance,
The Synods sable, foggy ignorance.
Nor bodily nor ghostly Negro could
Rough-cast thy figure in a sadder mould:
This Privie-chamber of thy shape would be
But the Close mourner of thy Royaltie.
'Twill breake the circle of thy Jailors spell,
A Pearle within a rugged Oysters shell.
Heaven, which the Minster of thy Person owns,
Will fine thee for Dilapidations.
Like to a martyr'd Abbeys courser doome,
Devoutly alter'd to a Pigeon roome:
Or like the Colledge by the changeling rabble,
Manchesters Elves, transform'd into a Stable.
Or if there be a prophanation higher,
Such is the Sacriledge of thine Attire.
By which th'art halfe depos'd, thou look'st like one
Whose looks are under Sequestration.
Whose Renegado form, at the first glance,
Shews like the self-denying Ordinance.
Angell of light, and darknesse too, I doubt,
Inspir'd within, and yet posses'd without.
Majestick twilight in the state of grace,
Yet with an excommunicated face.
33
A Psalme of mercy in a miscreant print.
The Sun wears Nidnight, Day is Beetle-brow'd,
And Lightning is in Keldar of a cloud.
Oh the accurst Stenographie of fate!
The Princely Eagle shrunke into a Bat.
What charme, what Magick vapour can it be
That shrinks his rayes to this Apostasie?
It is no subtile filme of tiffany ayre,
No Cob-web vizard, such as Ladies weare,
When they are veyl'd on purpose to be seene,
Doubling their lustre by their vanquisht Skreene:
Nor the false scabberd of a Princes tough
Metall, and three-pil'd darknesse, like the slough
Of an imprisoned flame, 'tis Faux in graine,
Darke Lanthorn to our high Meridian.
Hell belcht the damp, the Warwick-Castle-Vote
Rang Britains Curfeu, so our light went out.
Thy visage is not legible, the letters,
Like a Lords name, writ in phantastick setters:
Cloathes where a Switzer might be buried quicke,
Sure they would fit the Body Politique.
False beard enough, to fit a stages plot,
For that's the ambush of their wit, God wot.
Nay all his properties so strange appeare,
Y'are not i'th' presence, though the King be there.
A Libell is his dresse, a garb uncouth,
Such as the Hue and Cry once purg'd at mouth.
Scribling Assasinate, thy lines attest
An eare-mark due; Cub of the Blatant Beast,
VVhose breath before 'tis syllabled for worse,
Is blasphemy unfledg'd, a callow curse.
34
Wafting to hell, bag up thy phrase, and bind
It to the Barque, which at the voyage end
Shifts Poop, and brings the Collick in the fiend.
But I'le not dub thee with a glorious scar,
Nor sinke thy Skuller with a Man of War.
The black-mouth'd Si quis, and this slandering suite,
Both doe alike in picture execute.
But since w'are all call'd Papist, why not date,
Devotion to the rags thus consecrate.
As Temples use to have their Porches wrought
With Sphynxes, creatures of an antick draught,
And puzling Pourtraitures, to shew that there
Riddles inhabited, the like is here.
But pardon Sir, since I presume to be
Clarke of this Closet to Your Majestie;
Me thinks in this your dark mysterious dresse
I see the Gospell coucht in Parables.
At my next view, my pur-blind fancy ripes,
And shewes Religion in its dusky types.
Such a Text Royall, so obscure a shade
Was Solomon in Proverbs all array'd.
Clarke of this Closet to Your Majestie;
Me thinks in this your dark mysterious dresse
I see the Gospell coucht in Parables.
At my next view, my pur-blind fancy ripes,
And shewes Religion in its dusky types.
Such a Text Royall, so obscure a shade
Was Solomon in Proverbs all array'd.
Come all ye brats of this expounding age,
To whom the spirit is in pupillage;
You that damne more then ever Sampson slew,
And with his engine, the same jaw-bone too:
How is't he scapes your Inquisition free,
Since bound up in the Bibles Liverie?
Hence Cabinet-Intruders, Pick-locks hence,
You that dim Jewells with your Bristoll-sense:
And Characters, like Witches, so torment,
Till they confesse a guilt, though innocent.
Keyes for this Coffer you can never get,
None but S. Peter's op's this Cabinet.
This Cabinet, whose aspect would benight
Critick spectators with redundant light.
A Prince most seen, is least: What Scriptures call
The Revelation, is most mysticall.
To whom the spirit is in pupillage;
You that damne more then ever Sampson slew,
And with his engine, the same jaw-bone too:
How is't he scapes your Inquisition free,
Since bound up in the Bibles Liverie?
Hence Cabinet-Intruders, Pick-locks hence,
You that dim Jewells with your Bristoll-sense:
And Characters, like Witches, so torment,
Till they confesse a guilt, though innocent.
35
None but S. Peter's op's this Cabinet.
This Cabinet, whose aspect would benight
Critick spectators with redundant light.
A Prince most seen, is least: What Scriptures call
The Revelation, is most mysticall.
Mount then thou shadow royall, and with haste
Advance thy morning star, Charles's overcast.
May thy strange journey, contradictions twist,
And force faire weather from a Scottish mist.
Heavens Confessors are pos'd, those star-ey'd Sages
To interpret an Ecclipse, thus riding stages.
Thus Israel-like he travells with a cloud,
Both as a Conduct to him, and a shroud.
But oh! he goes to Gibeon, and renewes
A league with mouldy bread, and clouted shooes.
Advance thy morning star, Charles's overcast.
May thy strange journey, contradictions twist,
And force faire weather from a Scottish mist.
Heavens Confessors are pos'd, those star-ey'd Sages
To interpret an Ecclipse, thus riding stages.
Thus Israel-like he travells with a cloud,
Both as a Conduct to him, and a shroud.
But oh! he goes to Gibeon, and renewes
A league with mouldy bread, and clouted shooes.
The Rebell Scot.
How! Providence! and yet a Scottish crew!
Then Madam, nature wears black patches too:
What? shall our Nation be in bondage thus
Unto a Land that truckles under us?
Ring the bells backward; I am all on fire,
Not all the buckets in a Countrey Quire
Shall quench my rage. A Poet should be fear'd
When angry, like a Comets flaming beard.
And where's the Stoick? can his wrath appease
To see his Countrey sicke of Pym's disease
By Scotch invasion? to be made a prey
To such Pig-wiggin Myrmidons as they?
But that there's charm in verse, I would not quote
The name of Scot, without an Antidote;
Unlesse my head were red, that I might brew
Invention there that might be poyson too.
Were I a drowzie Judge, whose dismall Note
Disgorgeth halters, as a Juglers throat
Doth ribbands: could I (in Sir Emp'ricks tone)
Speak Pills in phrase, and quack destruction:
Or roare like Marshall, that Genevah-Bull,
Hell and damnation a pulpit full:
Yet to expresse a Scot, to play that prize,
Not all those mouth-Granadoes can suffice.
Before a Scot can properly be curst,
I must (like Hocus) swallow daggers first.
Then Madam, nature wears black patches too:
What? shall our Nation be in bondage thus
Unto a Land that truckles under us?
Ring the bells backward; I am all on fire,
Not all the buckets in a Countrey Quire
Shall quench my rage. A Poet should be fear'd
When angry, like a Comets flaming beard.
And where's the Stoick? can his wrath appease
To see his Countrey sicke of Pym's disease
By Scotch invasion? to be made a prey
To such Pig-wiggin Myrmidons as they?
36
The name of Scot, without an Antidote;
Unlesse my head were red, that I might brew
Invention there that might be poyson too.
Were I a drowzie Judge, whose dismall Note
Disgorgeth halters, as a Juglers throat
Doth ribbands: could I (in Sir Emp'ricks tone)
Speak Pills in phrase, and quack destruction:
Or roare like Marshall, that Genevah-Bull,
Hell and damnation a pulpit full:
Yet to expresse a Scot, to play that prize,
Not all those mouth-Granadoes can suffice.
Before a Scot can properly be curst,
I must (like Hocus) swallow daggers first.
Come keen Iambicks, with your Badgers feet,
And Badger-like, bite till your teeth do meet.
Help ye tart Satyrists, to imp my rage,
With all the Scorpions that should whip this age.
Scots are like Witches; do but whet your pen,
Scratch til the blood come; they'l not hurt you then.
Now as the Martyrs were inforc'd to take
The shapes of beasts, like hypocrites, at stake,
I'le bait my Scot so; yet not cheat your eyes,
A Scot within a beast is no disguise.
And Badger-like, bite till your teeth do meet.
Help ye tart Satyrists, to imp my rage,
With all the Scorpions that should whip this age.
Scots are like Witches; do but whet your pen,
Scratch til the blood come; they'l not hurt you then.
Now as the Martyrs were inforc'd to take
The shapes of beasts, like hypocrites, at stake,
I'le bait my Scot so; yet not cheat your eyes,
A Scot within a beast is no disguise.
No more let Ireland brag, her harmlesse Nation
Fosters no Venome, since the Scots Plantation:
Nor can ours feign'd Antiquitie maintaine;
Since they came in, England hath Wolves againe.
The Scot that kept the Tower, might have showne
(Within the grate of his own brest alone)
The Leopard and the Panther; and ingrost
What all those wild Collegiats had cost
The honest High-shoes, in their Termly Fees,
First to the salvage Lawyer, next to these.
Nature her selfe doth Scotch-men beasts confesse,
Making their Countrey such a wildernesse:
A Land, that brings in question and suspense
Gods omnipresence, but that Charles came thence.
But that Montrose and Crawfords loyall Band
Atton'd their sins, and christ'ned halfe the Land:
Nor is it all the Nation hath these spots;
There is a Church, as well as Kirk of Scots:
As in a picture, where the squinting paint
Shewes Fiend on this side, and on that side Saint.
He that saw Hell in's melancholie dreame,
And in the twilight of his Fancy's theame,
Scar'd from his sinnes, repented in a fright,
Had he view'd Scotland, had turn'd Proselite.
A Land, where one may pray with curst intent,
O may they never suffer banishment!
Had Cain been Scot, God would have chang'd his doome,
Not forc'd him wander, but confin'd him home.
Like Jewes they spread, and as Infection flie,
As if the Divell had Ubiquitie.
Hence 'tis, they live at Rovers; and defie
This or that Place, Rags of Geographie.
They're Citizens o'th World; they're all in all,
Scotland's a Nation Epidemicall.
And yet they ramble not, to learne the Mode
How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad,
To return knowing in the Spanish shrug,
Or which of the Dutch States a double Jug
Resembles most, in Belly, or in Beard:
(The Card by which the Mariners are stear'd.)
No; the Scots-Errant fight, and fight to eat;
Their Estrich-stomacks make their swords their meat:
Nature with Scots as Tooth-drawers hath dealt,
Who use to hang their Teeth upon their Belt.
Yet wonder not at this their happy choice;
The Serpent's fatall still to Paradise.
Sure England hath the Hemerods, and these
On the North-posture of the patient seize,
Like Leeches: thus they physically thirst
After our blood, but in the cure shall burst.
Let them not think to make us run ot'h' score,
To purchase Villanage, as once before,
When an Act past, to stroake them on the head,
Call them good Subjects, buy them Ginger-bread.
Nor gold, nor Acts of Grace; 'tis steel must tame
The stubborn Scot: A Prince that would reclaime
Rebells by yeelding, doth like him, (or worse)
Who sadled his own back to shame his horse.
Fosters no Venome, since the Scots Plantation:
Nor can ours feign'd Antiquitie maintaine;
Since they came in, England hath Wolves againe.
The Scot that kept the Tower, might have showne
(Within the grate of his own brest alone)
The Leopard and the Panther; and ingrost
What all those wild Collegiats had cost
37
First to the salvage Lawyer, next to these.
Nature her selfe doth Scotch-men beasts confesse,
Making their Countrey such a wildernesse:
A Land, that brings in question and suspense
Gods omnipresence, but that Charles came thence.
But that Montrose and Crawfords loyall Band
Atton'd their sins, and christ'ned halfe the Land:
Nor is it all the Nation hath these spots;
There is a Church, as well as Kirk of Scots:
As in a picture, where the squinting paint
Shewes Fiend on this side, and on that side Saint.
He that saw Hell in's melancholie dreame,
And in the twilight of his Fancy's theame,
Scar'd from his sinnes, repented in a fright,
Had he view'd Scotland, had turn'd Proselite.
A Land, where one may pray with curst intent,
O may they never suffer banishment!
Had Cain been Scot, God would have chang'd his doome,
Not forc'd him wander, but confin'd him home.
Like Jewes they spread, and as Infection flie,
As if the Divell had Ubiquitie.
Hence 'tis, they live at Rovers; and defie
This or that Place, Rags of Geographie.
They're Citizens o'th World; they're all in all,
Scotland's a Nation Epidemicall.
And yet they ramble not, to learne the Mode
How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad,
To return knowing in the Spanish shrug,
Or which of the Dutch States a double Jug
Resembles most, in Belly, or in Beard:
(The Card by which the Mariners are stear'd.)
38
Their Estrich-stomacks make their swords their meat:
Nature with Scots as Tooth-drawers hath dealt,
Who use to hang their Teeth upon their Belt.
Yet wonder not at this their happy choice;
The Serpent's fatall still to Paradise.
Sure England hath the Hemerods, and these
On the North-posture of the patient seize,
Like Leeches: thus they physically thirst
After our blood, but in the cure shall burst.
Let them not think to make us run ot'h' score,
To purchase Villanage, as once before,
When an Act past, to stroake them on the head,
Call them good Subjects, buy them Ginger-bread.
Nor gold, nor Acts of Grace; 'tis steel must tame
The stubborn Scot: A Prince that would reclaime
Rebells by yeelding, doth like him, (or worse)
Who sadled his own back to shame his horse.
Was it for this you gave your leaner soyle,
Thus to lard Israel with Ægypts spoyle?
They are the Gospels Life-guard; but for them,
The Garrison of new Jerusalem,
What would the Brethren do? the Cause! the Cause!
Sack possets, and the Fundamentall Lawes!
Lord! what a goodly thing is want of shirts!
How a Scotch-stomack, and no meat, converts!
They wanted food, and raiment; so they took
Religion for their Seamstresse, and their Cook.
Unmask them well; their honours and estate,
As well as conscience, are sophisticate.
Shrive but their Titles, and their money poize,
A Laird and Twenty pound pronounc'd with noise,
When construed, but for a plaine yeoman go,
And a good sober two-pence; and well so.
Hence then you proud Impostors, get you gone,
You Picts in Gentry and Devotion:
You scandalls to the stock of Verse! a race!
Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace.
Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce
The Ostracisme, and sham'd it out of use.
The Indian that heaven did forsweare,
Because he heard the Spaniards were there,
Had he but knowne what Scots in hell had been,
He would Erasmus-like have hung between.
My Muse hath done. A Voider for the nonce!
I wrong the Devill, should I picke the bones.
That dish is his: for when the Scots decease,
Hell like their Nation feeds on Barnacles.
Thus to lard Israel with Ægypts spoyle?
They are the Gospels Life-guard; but for them,
The Garrison of new Jerusalem,
What would the Brethren do? the Cause! the Cause!
Sack possets, and the Fundamentall Lawes!
Lord! what a goodly thing is want of shirts!
How a Scotch-stomack, and no meat, converts!
They wanted food, and raiment; so they took
Religion for their Seamstresse, and their Cook.
Unmask them well; their honours and estate,
As well as conscience, are sophisticate.
Shrive but their Titles, and their money poize,
A Laird and Twenty pound pronounc'd with noise,
47
And a good sober two-pence; and well so.
Hence then you proud Impostors, get you gone,
You Picts in Gentry and Devotion:
You scandalls to the stock of Verse! a race!
Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace.
Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce
The Ostracisme, and sham'd it out of use.
The Indian that heaven did forsweare,
Because he heard the Spaniards were there,
Had he but knowne what Scots in hell had been,
He would Erasmus-like have hung between.
My Muse hath done. A Voider for the nonce!
I wrong the Devill, should I picke the bones.
That dish is his: for when the Scots decease,
Hell like their Nation feeds on Barnacles.
A Scot, when from the Gallow-Tree got loose,
Drops into Styx, and turnes a Soland-Goose.
Drops into Styx, and turnes a Soland-Goose.
To P. Rupert.
O that I could but vote my selfe a Poet!
Or had the Legislative knacke to do it!
Or, like the Doctors Militant, could get
Dub'd at adventures Verser Banneret!
Or had I Cacus tricke to make my Rimes
Their owne Antipodes, and track the times:
Faces about, saies the Remonstrant Spirit;
Allegeance is Malignant, Treason Merit:
Huntington-colt, that pos'd the Sage Recorder,
Might be a Sturgeon now, and passe by Order:
Had I but Elsing's guift (that splay-mouth'd Brother)
That declares one way, and yet meanes another:
Could I but write a-squint; then (Sir) long since
You had been sung, A Great and Glorious Prince.
I had observ'd the Language of the dayes;
Blasphem'd you; and then Periwigg'd the Phrase
With Humble Service, and such other Fustian,
Bels which ring backward in this great Combustion.
I had revil'd you; and without offence,
The Literall, and Equitable Sence
Would make it good: when all failes, that will do't:
Sure that distinction cleft the Devill's Foot.
This were my Dialect, would your Highnesse please
To read mee but with Hebrew Spectacles;
Interpret Counter, what is Crosse rehears'd:
Libells are commendations, when revers'd.
Just as an Optique Glasse contracts the sight
At one end, but when turn'd doth multip'y't.
But you're enchanted, Sir; you're doubly free
From the great Guns, and squibbing Poetrie:
Whom neither Bilbo, nor Invention pierces,
Proofe even 'gainst th'Artillerie of Verses.
Stranged that the Muses cannot wound your Maile;
If not their Art, yet let their Sex prevaile.
At that knowne Leaguer, where the Bonny Besses
Supplyed the Bow-strings with their twisted tresses,
Your spells could ne're have fenc'd you: every arrow
Had launc'd your noble breast: and drunk the marrow:
For beauty, like white powder makes no noise;
And yet the silent Hypocrite destroyes.
Then use the Nuns of Helicon with pity,
Lest Wharton tell his Gossops of the City,
That you kill women too; nay maids; and such
Their Generall wants Militia to touch.
Impotent Essex! is it not a shame
Our Commonwealth, like to a Turkish Dame,
Should have an Eunuch-Guardian? may she bee
Ravish'd by Charles, rather then sav'd by thee.
But why, my Muse, like a Green-sicknesse-Girle,
Feed'st thou on coales and dirt? a Gelding Earle
Gives no more relish to thy Female Palat,
Then to that Asse did once the Thistle-Sallat.
Then quit the barren Theme; and all at once
Thou and thy sisters like bright Amazons,
Give RUPERT an alarum, RUPERT! one
Whose name is wit's Superfœtation.
Makes fancy, like eternitie's round wombe,
Unite all Valour; present, past, to come.
He, who the old Philosophie controules,
That voted downe plurality of soules.
He breaths a grand Committee; all that were
The wonders of their Age, constellate here.
And as the elder sisters, growth and sence
(Soules Paramount themselves) in man commence
But faculties of reasons Queen; no more
Are they to him, who were compleat before.
Ingredients of his vertue thread the Beads
Of Cæsar's Acts, great Pompey's and the Sweds:
And 'tis a bracelet fit for Rupert's hand,
By which that vast Triumvirate is spann'd.
Here, here is Palmestry; here you may read
How long the world shall live, and when't shal bleed.
Whatever man winds up, that RUPERT hath:
For nature rais'd him of the Publike Faith,
Pandora's Brother, to make up whose store,
The Gods were faine to run upon the score.
Such was the Painters Brieve for Venus face;
Item an eye from Jane, a lip from Grace.
Let Isaac and his Cit'z. flea off the Place
That tips their Antlets for the Calfe of Stace;
Let the zeale-twanging Nose, that wants a ridge,
Snuffling devoutly, drop his silver bridge:
Yes, and the Gossips spoon augment the summe,
Although poore Caleb lose his Christendome:
Rupert out-weighs that in his Sterling-selfe,
Which their selfe-wants payes in commuting pelfe.
Pardon, great Sir; for that ignoble crew
Gaines, when made bankrupt, in the scales with you.
As he, who in his character of light
Stil'd it Gods shadow, made it farre more bright
By an Eclipse so glorious; (light is dim,
And a black nothing, when compar'd to him)
So 'tis illustrious to be Ruperts Foile,
And a just Trophee to be made his spoile.
I'le pin my faith on the Diurnalls sleeve
Hereafter, and the Guild-Hall Creed beleeve;
The conquests, which the Common-Councell hears
With their wide-list'ning mouths from the great Peers
That ran away in triumph: such a Foe
Can make them victors in their overthrow.
Where providence and valour meet in one,
Courage so poiz'd with circumspection,
That he revives the quarrell once againe
Of the Soules throne, whether in heart or braine;
And leaves it a drawn match: whose fervour can
Hatch him, whom Nature poach'd but Half a Man.
His Trumpet, like the Angell's at the last,
Makes the soul rise by a miraculous blast.
'Twas the Mount Athos carv'd in shape of man
(As't was defin'd by th'Macedonian)
Whose right hand should a populous Land containe,
The left should be a Channell to the maine:
His spirit might informe th'Amphibious figure;
Yet straight-lac'd sweats for a Dominion bigger:
The terrour of whose name can out of seven,
(Like Falstaffe's Buckram-men) make fly eleven.
Thus some grow rich by breaking; Vipers thus
By being slaine, are made more numerous.
No wonder they'l confesse, no losse of men;
For Rupert knocks'em, till they gigg agen.
They feare the Giblets of his traine; they fear
Even his Dog, that four-legg'd Cavalier::
He that devoures the scraps, which Lundsford makes,
Whose picture feeds upon a child in stakes:
VVho name but Charles, hee comes aloft for him,
But holds up his Malignant leg at Pym.
'Gainst whom they've severall Articles in souse;
First, that he barks against the sense o'th House.
Resolv'd Delinquent, to the Tower straight;
Either to th'Lions, or the Bishops Grate.
Next, for his ceremonious wag o'th taile:
But there the Sisterhood will be his Baile,
At least the Countesse will, Lust's Amsterdam,
That lets in all religious of the game.
Thirdly, he smells Intelligence, that's better,
And cheaper too, then Pym's from his owne Letter:
Who's doubly pai'd (fortune or we the blinder?)
For making plots, and then for Fox the Finder.
Lastly, he is a Devill without doubt;
For when he would lie downe, he wheels about;
Makes circles, and is couchant in a ring;
And therefore score up one for conjuring.
What canst thou say, thou wretch? O Quarter, quarter!
I'me but an Instrument, a meer S. Arthur.
If I must hang, ô let not our fates varie,
Whose office 'tis alike to fetch, and carry.
No hopes of a reprieve, the mutinous stir
That strung the Jesuite, will dispatch a cur.
Were La Devill as the Rebell feares,
I see the House would try me by my Peeres.
There Jowler, there! ah Jowler! st! 'tis nought
Whate're the Accusers cry, they're at a fault;
And Glyn, and Maynard have no more to say,
Then when the glorious Strafford stood at Bay.
Or had the Legislative knacke to do it!
Or, like the Doctors Militant, could get
Dub'd at adventures Verser Banneret!
Or had I Cacus tricke to make my Rimes
Their owne Antipodes, and track the times:
Faces about, saies the Remonstrant Spirit;
Allegeance is Malignant, Treason Merit:
Huntington-colt, that pos'd the Sage Recorder,
Might be a Sturgeon now, and passe by Order:
40
That declares one way, and yet meanes another:
Could I but write a-squint; then (Sir) long since
You had been sung, A Great and Glorious Prince.
I had observ'd the Language of the dayes;
Blasphem'd you; and then Periwigg'd the Phrase
With Humble Service, and such other Fustian,
Bels which ring backward in this great Combustion.
I had revil'd you; and without offence,
The Literall, and Equitable Sence
Would make it good: when all failes, that will do't:
Sure that distinction cleft the Devill's Foot.
This were my Dialect, would your Highnesse please
To read mee but with Hebrew Spectacles;
Interpret Counter, what is Crosse rehears'd:
Libells are commendations, when revers'd.
Just as an Optique Glasse contracts the sight
At one end, but when turn'd doth multip'y't.
But you're enchanted, Sir; you're doubly free
From the great Guns, and squibbing Poetrie:
Whom neither Bilbo, nor Invention pierces,
Proofe even 'gainst th'Artillerie of Verses.
Stranged that the Muses cannot wound your Maile;
If not their Art, yet let their Sex prevaile.
At that knowne Leaguer, where the Bonny Besses
Supplyed the Bow-strings with their twisted tresses,
Your spells could ne're have fenc'd you: every arrow
Had launc'd your noble breast: and drunk the marrow:
For beauty, like white powder makes no noise;
And yet the silent Hypocrite destroyes.
Then use the Nuns of Helicon with pity,
Lest Wharton tell his Gossops of the City,
41
Their Generall wants Militia to touch.
Impotent Essex! is it not a shame
Our Commonwealth, like to a Turkish Dame,
Should have an Eunuch-Guardian? may she bee
Ravish'd by Charles, rather then sav'd by thee.
But why, my Muse, like a Green-sicknesse-Girle,
Feed'st thou on coales and dirt? a Gelding Earle
Gives no more relish to thy Female Palat,
Then to that Asse did once the Thistle-Sallat.
Then quit the barren Theme; and all at once
Thou and thy sisters like bright Amazons,
Give RUPERT an alarum, RUPERT! one
Whose name is wit's Superfœtation.
Makes fancy, like eternitie's round wombe,
Unite all Valour; present, past, to come.
He, who the old Philosophie controules,
That voted downe plurality of soules.
He breaths a grand Committee; all that were
The wonders of their Age, constellate here.
And as the elder sisters, growth and sence
(Soules Paramount themselves) in man commence
But faculties of reasons Queen; no more
Are they to him, who were compleat before.
Ingredients of his vertue thread the Beads
Of Cæsar's Acts, great Pompey's and the Sweds:
And 'tis a bracelet fit for Rupert's hand,
By which that vast Triumvirate is spann'd.
Here, here is Palmestry; here you may read
How long the world shall live, and when't shal bleed.
Whatever man winds up, that RUPERT hath:
For nature rais'd him of the Publike Faith,
50
The Gods were faine to run upon the score.
Such was the Painters Brieve for Venus face;
Item an eye from Jane, a lip from Grace.
Let Isaac and his Cit'z. flea off the Place
That tips their Antlets for the Calfe of Stace;
Let the zeale-twanging Nose, that wants a ridge,
Snuffling devoutly, drop his silver bridge:
Yes, and the Gossips spoon augment the summe,
Although poore Caleb lose his Christendome:
Rupert out-weighs that in his Sterling-selfe,
Which their selfe-wants payes in commuting pelfe.
Pardon, great Sir; for that ignoble crew
Gaines, when made bankrupt, in the scales with you.
As he, who in his character of light
Stil'd it Gods shadow, made it farre more bright
By an Eclipse so glorious; (light is dim,
And a black nothing, when compar'd to him)
So 'tis illustrious to be Ruperts Foile,
And a just Trophee to be made his spoile.
I'le pin my faith on the Diurnalls sleeve
Hereafter, and the Guild-Hall Creed beleeve;
The conquests, which the Common-Councell hears
With their wide-list'ning mouths from the great Peers
That ran away in triumph: such a Foe
Can make them victors in their overthrow.
Where providence and valour meet in one,
Courage so poiz'd with circumspection,
That he revives the quarrell once againe
Of the Soules throne, whether in heart or braine;
And leaves it a drawn match: whose fervour can
Hatch him, whom Nature poach'd but Half a Man.
51
Makes the soul rise by a miraculous blast.
'Twas the Mount Athos carv'd in shape of man
(As't was defin'd by th'Macedonian)
Whose right hand should a populous Land containe,
The left should be a Channell to the maine:
His spirit might informe th'Amphibious figure;
Yet straight-lac'd sweats for a Dominion bigger:
The terrour of whose name can out of seven,
(Like Falstaffe's Buckram-men) make fly eleven.
Thus some grow rich by breaking; Vipers thus
By being slaine, are made more numerous.
No wonder they'l confesse, no losse of men;
For Rupert knocks'em, till they gigg agen.
They feare the Giblets of his traine; they fear
Even his Dog, that four-legg'd Cavalier::
He that devoures the scraps, which Lundsford makes,
Whose picture feeds upon a child in stakes:
VVho name but Charles, hee comes aloft for him,
But holds up his Malignant leg at Pym.
'Gainst whom they've severall Articles in souse;
First, that he barks against the sense o'th House.
Resolv'd Delinquent, to the Tower straight;
Either to th'Lions, or the Bishops Grate.
Next, for his ceremonious wag o'th taile:
But there the Sisterhood will be his Baile,
At least the Countesse will, Lust's Amsterdam,
That lets in all religious of the game.
Thirdly, he smells Intelligence, that's better,
And cheaper too, then Pym's from his owne Letter:
Who's doubly pai'd (fortune or we the blinder?)
For making plots, and then for Fox the Finder.
44
For when he would lie downe, he wheels about;
Makes circles, and is couchant in a ring;
And therefore score up one for conjuring.
What canst thou say, thou wretch? O Quarter, quarter!
I'me but an Instrument, a meer S. Arthur.
If I must hang, ô let not our fates varie,
Whose office 'tis alike to fetch, and carry.
No hopes of a reprieve, the mutinous stir
That strung the Jesuite, will dispatch a cur.
Were La Devill as the Rebell feares,
I see the House would try me by my Peeres.
There Jowler, there! ah Jowler! st! 'tis nought
Whate're the Accusers cry, they're at a fault;
And Glyn, and Maynard have no more to say,
Then when the glorious Strafford stood at Bay.
Thus Labells but annex'd to him we see,
Enjoy a copyhold of Victorie.
S. Peters shadow heal'd; Ruperts is such,
Twould find S. Peters worke, yet wound as much.
He gags their guns, defeats their dire intent,
The Cannons doe but lisp and complement.
Sure Iove descended in a leaden shower
To get this Perseus: hence the fatall power
Of shot is strangled: bullets thus allied,
Feare to commit an act of Particide.
Go on brave Prince, and make the world confesse,
Thou art the greater world, and that the lesse.
Scatter th'accumulative King, untruss
That five-fold fiend, the States SMECTYMNUUS;
Who place Religion in their Velam ears;
As in their Phylacters the Jewes did theirs.
England's a Paradise, (and a modest Word)
Since guarded by a Cherub's flaming Sword.
Your name can scare an Athiest to his prayers;
And cure the Chin-cough better then the bears.
Old Sybill charmes the Tooth-ach with you: Nurse
Makes you still children; nay and the pond'rous curse
The Clownes salute with, is deriv'd from you;
(Now RUPERT take thee, Rogue; how dost thou do?)
In fine, the name of Rupert thunders so,
Kimbolton's but a rumbling Wheel-barrow.
Enjoy a copyhold of Victorie.
S. Peters shadow heal'd; Ruperts is such,
Twould find S. Peters worke, yet wound as much.
He gags their guns, defeats their dire intent,
The Cannons doe but lisp and complement.
Sure Iove descended in a leaden shower
To get this Perseus: hence the fatall power
Of shot is strangled: bullets thus allied,
Feare to commit an act of Particide.
Go on brave Prince, and make the world confesse,
Thou art the greater world, and that the lesse.
Scatter th'accumulative King, untruss
That five-fold fiend, the States SMECTYMNUUS;
Who place Religion in their Velam ears;
As in their Phylacters the Jewes did theirs.
45
Since guarded by a Cherub's flaming Sword.
Your name can scare an Athiest to his prayers;
And cure the Chin-cough better then the bears.
Old Sybill charmes the Tooth-ach with you: Nurse
Makes you still children; nay and the pond'rous curse
The Clownes salute with, is deriv'd from you;
(Now RUPERT take thee, Rogue; how dost thou do?)
In fine, the name of Rupert thunders so,
Kimbolton's but a rumbling Wheel-barrow.
Epitaph on the Earl of Strafford.
Here lies Wise and Valiant Dust,Huddled up 'twixt Fit and Just:
Strafford, who was hurried hence
'Twixt Treason and Convenience.
He spent his Time here in a Mist;
A Papist, yet a Calvinist.
His Prince's nearest Joy, and Grief.
He had, yet wanted all Reliefe.
The Prop and Ruine of the State;
The People's violent Love, and Hate:
One in extreames lov'd and abhor'd.
Riddles lie here; or in a word,
Here lies Blood; and let it lie
Speechlesse still, and never crie.
47
On the Archbishop of Canterbury.
I need no Muse to give my passion vent,
He brews his teares that studies to lament.
Verse chymically weeps; that pious raine
Distill'd with Art, is but the sweat o'th' braine.
Who ever sob'd in numbers? can a groane
Be quaver'd out by soft division?
Tis true, for common formall Elegies,
Not Bushells Wells can match a Poets eyes
In wanton water-works: hee'l tune his teares
From a Geneva Jig up to the Spheares.
But when he mournes at distance, weeps aloof,
Now that the Conduit head is our owne roof,
Now that the fate is publique, we may call
It Britaines Vespers, Englands Funerall.
Who hath a Pensill to expresse the Saint,
But he hath eyes too, washing off the paint?
There is no learning but what teares surround
Like to Seths Pillars in the Deluge drown'd.
There is no Church, Religion is growne
From much of late, that shee's encreast to none;
Like an Hydropick body full of Rhewmes,
First swells into a bubble, then consumes.
The Law is dead or cast into a trance,
And by a Law dough bakt, an Ordinance.
The Lyturgie, whose doome was voted next,
Died as a Comment upon him the Text.
There's nothing lives, life is since he is gone,
But a Nocturnall Lucubration.
Thus you have seen deaths inventory read
In the sum totall—Canterburie's dead.
A sight would make a Pagan to baptize
Himselfe a Convert in his bleeding eyes.
Would thaw the rable that fierce beast of ours,
(That which Agena-like weeps and devoures)
Tears that flow brackish from their soules within,
Not to repent, but pickle up their sin.
Meane time no squallid griefe his looke defiles,
He guilds his sadder fate with noble smiles.
Thus the worlds eye with reconciled streames
Shines in his showers as if he wept his beames.
How could successe such villanies applaud?
The state in Strafford fell, the Church in Laud:
The twins of publike rage adjudg'd to dye,
For Treasons they should act, by Prophecy.
The facts were done before the Lawes were made,
The trump turn'd up after the game was plai'd.
Be dull great spirits and forbeare to climbe,
For worth is sin and eminence a crime.
He brews his teares that studies to lament.
Verse chymically weeps; that pious raine
Distill'd with Art, is but the sweat o'th' braine.
Who ever sob'd in numbers? can a groane
Be quaver'd out by soft division?
Tis true, for common formall Elegies,
Not Bushells Wells can match a Poets eyes
In wanton water-works: hee'l tune his teares
From a Geneva Jig up to the Spheares.
But when he mournes at distance, weeps aloof,
Now that the Conduit head is our owne roof,
Now that the fate is publique, we may call
It Britaines Vespers, Englands Funerall.
Who hath a Pensill to expresse the Saint,
But he hath eyes too, washing off the paint?
There is no learning but what teares surround
Like to Seths Pillars in the Deluge drown'd.
There is no Church, Religion is growne
From much of late, that shee's encreast to none;
Like an Hydropick body full of Rhewmes,
First swells into a bubble, then consumes.
The Law is dead or cast into a trance,
And by a Law dough bakt, an Ordinance.
The Lyturgie, whose doome was voted next,
Died as a Comment upon him the Text.
There's nothing lives, life is since he is gone,
But a Nocturnall Lucubration.
48
In the sum totall—Canterburie's dead.
A sight would make a Pagan to baptize
Himselfe a Convert in his bleeding eyes.
Would thaw the rable that fierce beast of ours,
(That which Agena-like weeps and devoures)
Tears that flow brackish from their soules within,
Not to repent, but pickle up their sin.
Meane time no squallid griefe his looke defiles,
He guilds his sadder fate with noble smiles.
Thus the worlds eye with reconciled streames
Shines in his showers as if he wept his beames.
How could successe such villanies applaud?
The state in Strafford fell, the Church in Laud:
The twins of publike rage adjudg'd to dye,
For Treasons they should act, by Prophecy.
The facts were done before the Lawes were made,
The trump turn'd up after the game was plai'd.
Be dull great spirits and forbeare to climbe,
For worth is sin and eminence a crime.
No Church-man can be innocent and high,
'Tis height makes Grantham steeple stand awry.
'Tis height makes Grantham steeple stand awry.
THE END.
| The character of a London-Diurnall | |