University of Virginia Library

THE Dissenting Hypocrite,

OR; Occasional Conformist.

When Scribes to Reason said good Night,
And those that scarce could Read would Write,
A Man with Hebrew Prophet's Name,
Shut up his Shop in Search of Fame,
Who thought the Shortest Way to be
Promoted to the PILLORY,
Was first to make a mere blind Widgeon
Of all Established Religion;
And leave-off's Paltry Stocking-Jobbing,
To fall directly down a-Mobbing
And Rail at Ministers in Power,
Like Fox who said the Grapes were sour,
Only because he could not get
To reach such a Delieious Whet.
Thus the Dissenters Fav'rite-Tool
To gratify, must play the Fool;
And, like a Fly, must blindly caper,
Till it is singed in the Taper.
But then he had a fresh Occasion
To put in Print More Reformation;
Where he, to shew his mighty Brains,
Sets forth less Penitence than Pains,
To write a Book for Royal Pardon;
Which he had Study'd very hard on,
To Scandalize the Clergy's Actions,
And breed more Civil Whiggish Factions;
In hopes Religious Rites to Murder,
And fling out Decency and Order,
As on the Surplice he cast Dirt,
And call'd it Antichrist's foul Shirt.
Now was there ever such an Otter,
Thus to Revile both Land and Water?
Who lives by All, and cannot spare
Law, nor Divinity, nor Warr;
And kills Men just like freshest Samon,
Whom he's a Mind to make a Game on.
Let this Amphibious Wretch go free,
When we regain our Fishery;
And the Dear Dutch give up their Busses,
To make Amends for all our Losses
In Twelve Years unrewarded Crosses.
The PILLORY was but a Hook,
To make him write another Book:
His lofty HYMN to th'Wooden-Ruff,
Was to the Law a Counter-Cuff;
And truly, without Whiggish Flattery,
A plain Assault and downright Battery:
For he Accuses the Recorder
Of Brutal and Fanatick Murder;
Adjudges Him against the Law,
To stand where he had made his Show.
But All men that will not Dissent,
He puts in the same Pred'cament;
And in's Vagaries nobly stickles
For th'Honour of their Conventicles.
The Church be damn'd with his Reproaches,
That on their Liberties encroaches:
All Rogues but those wise godly People,
At Enmity with House call'd Steeple.
Thus he leaves-off, as he began,
T'abuse the True-Born-English-Man.
Surely he Factious Pamphlets writes
For Humble Pyes or Paper-Kites;
Or else They have their proper Uses,
And fill the Necessary Houses.
For Tartaretus ne'er thus writ,
Or his own Country so Besh---t,
In point of Manners, and indecent Wit.
However yet, he'll boldly tell us,
Peers of the Realm are but his Fellows;
Poor little Pimps and Massanello's:
And without farther Ceremony,
They're Knaves and Cheats that only Fun ye
Out of the Peoples Lives and Coin,
E'er since the Battle of the Boyn.
But sure his Righteous Quality
Ne'er sprang from Good Morality.
For Calumny, Reproach and Scandal,
The De'il himself may hold the Candle,
To this malicious grand Impostor
Against our Sacred Pater Noster,
Which teaches Christians the forgiving
Their Trespasses to all Men living.
So much for his Notorious Works,
Fit for Jews, Infidels, and Turks;
To sow Division among Christians,
And make 'em think us all Philistins:
But not one David left t'engage
This Great Goliah's mighty Rage.
One would e'en think the Sons of Jesse.
For want of Force, were not in Esse;
No Vigour, Courage, or brave Action
To Curb a Monstrous growing Faction.
Th'insulted Levites have not thrown
At th'Men of Gath one Conqu'ring Stone.
It looks as if they were engaged
In Solemn League with the Enraged,
Sworn Enemies of Israel's Laws,
T'advance the Old Rebellious Cause.
Ye know those bloody Lyons by their Paws.
But One irrefragable Writer,
To oppose Dalilah and fight her:
The Rest dishearten'd, or afraid
That Sampson should not be Betray'd.
Such insincere and treach'rous Friends,
Pursue their own sinister Ends;
And only want a fair Occasion,
To undeceive the bubbled Nation:
Else we'd soon see in th'English Plain,
The Presbyterians Champion slain.
Such Proud and Anti Christian Spirits,
If they're not punish'd for Demerits,
Will soon advance the Alcoran more
Than ever Mahomet did before;
And in a fatal wond'ring Trice,
Transport us all to Paradise:
Or else both Mecca and Geneva lyes.
A Tender Conscience should be tender,
Lest it offend against th'Offender;
Not others Vices so Lampoon,
To credit and advance his Own
Uncharitable Censures more;
As 'twere turn Bawd to damn the Whore:
To beat one's Brains out such a Fact is,
To be reveng'd of others Practice.
Of Justice this is one Character,
A Judge should be no Malefactor;
Nor do an Ill Thing to Condemn,
Turn Brute to Worry other Men.
Thus the People's Minds debauches,
From Meanest sort to those keep Coaches;
Corrupts the fond Seditious Town,
A meer Fanatick Adder grown
Against the Churche's peaceful Charms:
Deaf t'all but Whiggish loud Alarms.
No Papers FOR the Church will take;
But what's of the Dissenters Make,
Goes down with lushious greedy Swallow,
And their Unhallow'd Works All hallow.
Whoop! All the Clergy's Deer are Fallow;
All Rascal, Straying and Out-Lyers,
Old Liberty of Conscience-Plyers;
Who'd rather run the Risque of Jayls,
Than keep within the Churche's Pales:
Too narrow for such noble Souls,
Whose Boldness Heav'n and Earth controuls.
Their Notions Machiavilian, Hobbish,
Draw Multitudes, because they're Mobbish:
Their Cunning Canting Rebels urges,
And Captivates like merry Burges,
The Simple, who admire the Pranks
Of Spir'tual Juglers, Mountebanks,
That tell 'em of Soul-saving Physick
To Cure Consumptions or a Ptysick
In Body, or in Mind and Purse;
Which makes the Patients ten times worse.
For such Religious Quacks kill more
Than Ars'nick Wine, or Hellebore
E'er cur'd of Phrenzy and Distraction
Among the Melancholy Faction.
Thus with ill Principles they Poyson
All those they'd have to make a Noise on
The Dangers of a Persecution,
By the last fatal Revolution;
For fear of losing their blest Station,
The Benefits of Toleration:
When there was never more Occasion.
But yet their Railing breaks no Bones,
Like Furioso fighting Iones:
Tho' they ingross with their Abuses
Most Printers, Hawkers, Coffee Houses,
Who dare scarce deal with Loyal Books,
Against the Whigs, those Pow'rful Rooks;
That will have nothing now to do
With Jackdaws, or the Chatt'ring Jew
Who love Old England, not the New.
They would a New Religion make,
And burn the Old one at a Stake.
But still there's a Dissenting Crew
Would fill the Vacant Churches too;
Preach in our Pulpits with bold Faces,
Supply their Abdicated Places,
Could they our Priests turn out of Doors
For Sons of Babylonish Whores.
Avaunt bold Puritan Buffoon,
Far less a Christian than a Clown;
Unmannerly and Scandalous,
T'Abuse QUEEN, Lords and Commons thus;
To thy Superiors basely Rude;
To thy Inferiours, Equals, Proud;
To all Mankind a burning Shame,
An Infamy to common Fame:
Become a grand Imperious Hector,
For want of some kind State-Protector
Of thy own slovenly Persuasion,
Who can Conform upon Occasion,
Without Dissimulation, hearty
To serve a Turn or please a Party;
And bravely worship GOD and Mammon,
The Church of England to enflame on;
Or clip her Wings and low'r her Sails,
Or to short Stumps pare her long Nails.
Newgate perhaps may thee Inspire
With lewder Crimes and bolder Fire;
For to predict from Human Reason,
Thy next Offence will be High Treason:
What signify thy Peccadillo's?
Do something Braver than thy Fellows:
Those Regicides in Days of Yore,
Could swill themselves with Royal Gore.
Hang't, nothing your Rebellion hallows,
Like Dying for it at the Gallows.
The Pillory is but an Ass
To the Grand Traytor's Looking-Glass;
Where it appears a Glorious Thing
To take an Everlasting Swing,
Against a wise, good, just and lawful King.
Thou art but yet a Pill'ry-Peeper;
A Kennel-Raker, Chimney-Sweeper,
A Tinker, in good Comparison
With Bradshaw, Ireton, and Harrison,
For Blacker Crimes and Better Mettle;
To sound a Brass Poetick Kettle,
Our Monarchy to mend and alter,
Without the Wages of a Halter.
Tho' thou mayst think a King's Grand-Daughter,
As fit for Independent Slaughter.
I'll give you now some Honest Verse on
His fam'd Profession, Parts, and Person;
According to the good Old Story
Distinguishing a Whig from Tory.
One of whom is Masculine,
The t'other a Canting Femine,
Will Fetch and Carry any Matter
That may the easy Church bespatter;
He'll duck, dive, fish in troubled Water,
Like any Anabaptist-Prater,
Who in a Puddle sometimes Preaches
Regeneration above Breeches.
Their Practices are much the same,
One dips, and t'other drowns the Game:
For equally their Flock's deceiving,
They damn Men either Dead or Living.
But in Opinions still they differ,
VVho should be Obstinately Stiffer,
Against good Discipline and Union,
To overthrow the Church-Communion:
And yet 'tis hard to say however,
VVhich is the Arranter Deceiver.
Rather than stop Division's Gap,
Dansel would sure turn Anabap;
Or th'Anabap. turn Independent,
To get o'er England the Ascendant.
So Rogues unite and Rogues agree
By Diabolick Mystery,
To set the Honest Men at War all,
That they may rob them in the Quarrel.
Religion never was the Squabble;
For Int'rest made the Whiggish Rabble.
When e'er they rais'd the greatest Bluster;
The Church revil'd, prophanely curst Her;
Remonstrated against her Truths;
A Bishoprick would stop their Mouths.
I need not mention some Scotch Prelates.
Let him renounce, that living Well hates.
Let him that came from Covenanting,
Leave off his Hypocritic Canting;
Retract his false Unthankful Flouting
The English Church with Persecuting,
E'er since the Time o'th' Reformation
Down to his present Lordly Station.
He that thinks so o'th' Church, 'tis fit,
Should first-in Peace relinquish it;
Or else by his own Argument,
He's but a Persecuting Saint,
For All's pretended Moderation
In loud Harangue and long Oration.
He that is such a Church's Pastor
In Persecution and Disaster,
Must needs be stil'd a Persecutor,
Till he renounce Her for the Future.
Were e'er, God save our Gracious Queen,
Such Presbyterian Bi---ops seen?
Who can Episcopacy flatter,
And hold it betwixt Wind and Water,
In This profess it, at Command,
Abolish't in Another Land.
What must then be poor England's Woes
'Twixt Bishops Friends and Bishops Foes?
Conform and not Conform's a Fiction;
In Practice, a flat Contradiction,
T'our Saviour CHRIST's one true Communion:
And may chance spoil the Scottish Union.
Now he that veers and shifts his Sail,
Is of all sides and cannot sail;
But he that has Religions many,
Will ne'er a Martyr die for Any.
The Reason's plain and true, for why?
Such Weather-Cock-Conformity,
Argues their Consciences are swerving,
To the dear Int'rest of Time-Serving.
But if the Scot should catch a Tartar,
Perhaps he might die half a Martyr.
Their Spirit ever was Antartick
To Government, that's true Monarchick.
What! Shall they wear a righteous Whiniard,
And let th'Wildboar destroy the Vineyard?
Yes, Better far, and more Divine,
Than a whole Herd of Rav'nous Swine.
While they our Monarchy decry,
And lewdly bawl Things run too high;
They would Bare-fac'd, and not by Stealth,
Fain introduce a Commonwealth:
A Form of Government that's fitter
For Legion's Friends and Lambert's Litter,
Who, like those Hogs of old possessed
In happy Lands and Times most blessed,
Ran fiercely on to their Undoing:
But These are Worse to court their Ruine;
By false Republick's fatal Pranks,
And Treason's Practices, not Thanks;
Subversion study'd, not Subjection,
For their mild merciful Protection:
Else they must own to All the Nation,
That by Infernal Instigation,
They act on Precipices, Dangers,
Ruines, to which they are no Strangers.
Needs must, they say, when Devils drive,
Or else the Swine had scap'd Alive.
What! though in Holland or at Uenice,
A Commonwealth now so Serene is;
Possessing either Peace or Plenty,
Vast Traffick, and each precious Dainty:
Their Neighbours have not one in Twenty.
In rich Aristo-Democracy,
They thrive but by their Hypocrisy;
The Int'rest of their Money payd,
They only make This War a Trade:
Howe'er a Commonwealth's a Weed,
Of such a barb'rous barren Seed,
Lab'ring Republicans may sow,
In England it will never grow,
This Matter has been fairly try'd,
Or Oliver is sore Bely'd.
What Great Republicks were of Old,
In History is fully told;
But for our Modern States and Mighty,
They're not so very Good or Righte-,
ous as some Zealous Bigots think:
For Truth, All told, would make 'em stink.
They owe their Rise, their Growth, and Order
To Robbery, Rebellion, Murder.
Banditties, Pirates of the Ocean,
Of old, confirm my present Notion.
Some others did of Life bereave
The Prince and Bishop of Geneve.
That Antient Sore would need some Salving,
But then the Cow was just a-Calving.
Others again, like fickle Frogs,
Were weary of their Kingly Logs;
And without more ado Assaulted,
Their Lawful Monarch, and Revolted:
But if the Cruel Stork should come,
He'd Tyrannize and Cop up some;
Or thro' all Frogland cause a Croaking
Against the Doom of their Provoking.
That Church is Moderate and Easy
T'excess, which would be Felo de se,
By Latitude and Comprehensions,
That make such wild and vast Extensions;
Throw down the Church's just Enclosures,
To let in Coblers, Tinkers, Hosiers,
Who Pray Extempore and Preach
That GOD may never heal the Breach.
This Truth can be deny'd by no Man,
If once the State the Church lays Common,
It must inevitably Dine
O'th' Fat all Pharaoh's Leaner Kine.
If sam'd Hugh Peters, Baxter, Bunyan
Are proper Standards for an Union;
If Sh---re, or F---, or H---w, or Taylor,
Or Brethren of the Quaking Naylor,
Have writ such strong convincing Reasons
For to Reform our Church's Seasons;
To change our Feasts, or Fasts, or Fairs:
Then England is at its last Pray'rs.
I'll warrant they would finely Purge ye,
Your base Established Liturgy;
Make your Offensive Litany
To smoke like any Betony;
Burn it as Funk, or keep 't as Fodder,
For their Back-sides, the Jakes foreboder.
If they had their devouter Sway,
You never should in Publick pray
From sudden Death to be kept free,
Which they call horrid Blasphemy.
But I say, From such wretched Errors
Against the King of sudden Terrors,
In Peace, Good Lord, deliver Us;
Leave not True Church-Men dying thus.
If we should grant their vast Petitions,
Not all the Spanish Inquisitions
Have Christians, Jews tormented more
Than they'd afflict us with their Pow'r:
Full Pow'r obtain'd made Ipudibras
So Rude, so Rampant as he was,
To Ride his Royal Sov'reign like an Ass.
A King may give, and give and grant,
Till He Himself an Alms may want;
May want a Lodging, to his Sorrow,
When Whigs his Throne, Crown, Sceptre borrow
By Force of Arms and Curs'd Rebellion;
Whose Word no Prince again can rely on.
What made the Scots Just Charles sell?
He gave an Inch, They took an Ell.
'Tis true they Sold him in their way,
But English Whigs did for him Pay;
The Bargain struck, an Union wrought,
One Sold him, and the Other Bought:
Had Scots e'er such a Market seen,
If English Chapmen had not been?
Such fatal Condescensions make
Crowns totter, and Great Kingdoms quake,
Or put their Councils in Confusion,
For the next sudden Revolution.
There goes a Melancholy Story
Of a kind Wood, good-natur'd, sorry
E'er to deny a fair Request
To craving Man, or hungry Beast.
One day a civil Country-Fellow,
As Modest, Mealy-mouth'd and Mellow,
As soothing Whig in sober Mood;
Desires a Handle of the Wood,
To that great Hatchet in his Hand.
The Wood forthwith grants his Demand.
As soon as Royal Oak did store him,
Tho' to Fidelity it swore him,
He Cut down all the Trees before him.
The very Hedges were afraid
To feel th'ungrateful Murd'ring Blade.
This would have vex'd a Heart of Oak,
And even made a Stone t'have spoke.
When Whigs in former Days Things tore all,
They to this Fable made the Moral.
These Persons sure the more they have,
The more, like Leeches, still they crave;
Ne'er satisfy'd, nor Full, nor Fasting,
But the forbidden Fruit still tasting;
Till glutted with Inhumane Food,
At last they burst in Stink and Blood.
Their Natural and Boundless Temper
Is calculated fit for Empire;
The Difference of their Opinion
From ours, is want of Sole Dominion;
Not founded half so much in Grace,
As Offices of Trust and Place.
Sure these Couragious threat'ning Boys
Dare go t'assist the Sevennois;
Their Cause is just, so near a-Kin
To what they never thought a Sin,
Rebellion for Religion-sake.
The Devil may the Hindmost take.
The lazy Dugonots will join
So Great and Noble a Design,
Their lawful Rights for to Regain,
And Conquer cruel France and Spain;
I hope not bring the Example back again.
The Charitable Kind Min Deer
Will certainly go Voluntier,
Upon so glorious an Adventure
Of piercing France through to the Centre;
To reinstate poor Refugees,
Upon a True and Lasting Peace.
No Changling Duke will then refuse,
But soon the strongest Party chuse;
And his own Children disinherit,
Rather than not their Friendship merit.
There never was a Project braver!
May Wind, and Tide, and Time all favour
Our Whigs Confed'rate, gone Abroad
To squeeze the Head of Gallick Toad,
According to Old Nostredamus;
Those Wights may say, and who can blame us?
May't have Success o'er France and Rome
To the last Day of Foreign Doom;
So it prevent a Civil War at Home.
In Liberty of Conscience granted,
They fairly have what they so wanted;
But then they ought the Juster be,
Make Conscience of that Liberty:
Not use it as a Stalking Horse
To treat their Benefactors worse;
Not exceed slily their own Bounds,
And trespass upon other's Grounds.
Thus Partridges in Fields are driven,
By License to a Sportsman given,
Into a laid entangling Snare,
Before Poor Creatures are aware:
So by Experience we are taught,
That easy Princes may be caught.
If they've false Calls and baser Tricks,
And play the Devil on two Sticks;
Or, Potchers-like, destroy the Game
Thro' Liberty to do the same:
If things are so indeed; in my Sense,
They never should have any License
For Hunting, Hawking, Fishing, Fowling;
But be condemn'd to Night's Scriech-Owling,
And not confront the brightest Day
Of ANN's Illustrious dazzling Sway,
With their blind Flights and their licentious Prey:
But now their Darling they enjoy,
Not to Defend, but to Annoy
Th'Authority that gives them Peace,
Great Power and Religious Ease;
They wound the Giver, as they please,
Like the kind Hand that's stung with thankless Bees.
Of Old, when they were Uppermost
In Government, and rul'd the Roast,
Then Liberty of purest Conscience
To Royalists was arrant Non Sense;
They might not Preach, nor Pray, nor Teach,
And hardly had the Leave of Speech
In Publick, or in private Schools:
No, they were no such Gen'rous Fools.
But since the Tables are now turned,
And those rejoyce that have once Mourned;
Why, in the Name of solid Reason,
Should not the Whigs be out of Season?
For, to an Impartial By Stander,
What's Sauce for Goose is Sauce for Gander.
And this not half so hard a Bone is,
Nor so severe a Lex Talionis,
As their Barbarities have been
From martyr'd Laud's Time to the QUEEN;
Who gently reigns upon a changed Scene:
Who hath deny'd them nothing yet
If Liberty for Safety fit;
Yet what some Liberty do call,
That's Rope enough to hang 'em All.
And yet She is as much Maligned
As any QUEEN that ever Reigned,
With their vile Threats and desp'rate Libels
Sufficient to confound our Bibles;
Which tell 'em of their common Failing,
To bring no Accusation railing.
But I'd almost forgot their fervent,
Most Zealous, Faithful, Humble Servant;
The Commonwealth-Men's Observator;
That Up-start and Audacious Traytor;
The Manager of all their Notions
Prescrib'd in bitter deadly Potions,
T'infatuate the State made drunk,
And make the poyson'd Church turn Punk.
For Sense and Reason, there's not much in
Bold Latitudinarian Tutchin.
Lyes, Lewdness, and Libertinism
Can ne'er authenticate his Schism:
But with Big Words and Noise he'd fright us,
Not undeceiv'd by HERACLITUS
That He's the Creature of Old Titus.
For He the Tenth Part not the Wit is
Of Honest Loyal Mr. PITTIS;
There's no Comparison for Parts;
For Learning, or Ingenious Arts.
'Tis Odious to compare his Notes
With Ought but Fuller or False Dats
For Evidence, and Hardy-Back
In Impudence's Common Track
Of finding Plots of their Creating;
Traducing Illegitimating,
To Death their Lawful Princes hating:
Only He dreads a deserv'd Whipping;
Loves no Old Sores of Jack's up-ripping
Once ev'ry Year through Market-Towns,
To be a Jest to Country-Clowns
In Dorsetshire, by cutting Capers
For Writing Treasonous damn'd Papers.
He then Petition'd against Life,
And Lashing with eternal Strife;
For, to be hang'd He rather wanted:
And more the Pity 'twas not granted.
This Monstrous, Swarthy, Huge Gog-Magog
May call contending DAVID a Dog;
But Truth and Justice reigning fo,
They'll soon fetch down th'insulting Foe.
In the last Reign he might look Big,
A Topping and Imperious Whig:
But Now he must pull in his Horns;
Humbly Submit to what he Scorns;
Leave-off Informing and his Plotting
Against the Noble Lord of Notting-
Ham, and those other Just Commissioners,
Whose Lives and Places this Petitioner's
Design was to have Overthrown;
T'advance Himself, or raise his own
Beloved Party to the yielding CROWN;
Or to Great Office and Estate,
Upon the Ruines of their Fate.
This Greasy Fellow lov'd good Vittles,
And caus'd the Butchers whet their Whittles,
Intended by this Bloody Rake
To kill the Sacrifice he'd make:
While They were knocking down their Beeves,
He call'd the Officers grand Thieves;
And wish'd, instead of Hogs or Goats,
To fall a-cutting all their Throats.
Howe'er this Blockhead was not Wise
Enough to Win th'appointed Prize.
His giddy Brains too did miscarry
Of being England's Secretary:
And yet He should Preferment have;
There's some Reward sure for the Brave.
Yes sure, He does deserve his Part,
From an entirely English Heart,
To be promoted to a Whip ping-Cart:
Or since He understands the Trade,
Like any Butcher of the Blade
That e'er the Garden yet frequented,
For Manners ill, foul Language vented,
As Mutton rotten, or Beef tainted;
We might a Proper Office spare,
Make him Guts carry to the Bear.
Of His base Practices beware ye,
The Thirtieth Day of January;
For then his mighty Stomach wambles
So much unto the Butchers Shambles,
He would some CAVALIER devour,
Like any Tiger, in his Pow'r;
If Markets did not then afford
Store of Calves-Heads to please the Lord
And Master of that Mocking-Feast,
To gratify the Hungry Beast;
And satisfy his empty Skull,
Who from a Calf now's grown a Bull:
This is such Language as He writes,
And Carrion's fit enough for Kites.
Thus He applauds a Barb'rous Deed
As ever was by Rogues decreed;
The Cutting-off that Good King's Head,
From whence so many Monsters bred
That still deride and mock the Just,
And persecute him in the Dust.
In this their Malice does appear,
They do behead him ev'ry year;
As far as Spight and Power reaches,
Or Ridicule their Revenge teaches,
In Calves-Head-Mock'ry to behead
The sacred Ghost, and happy Dead.
This Tutchin is the Calves-Head Poet,
Th'inspiring Devil needs must know it;
Who at that Feast, for lofty strains,
Rebellious Poetry, and Pains,
Deserves the Honour of the Brains.
But all his study'd jingling Whims,
Curs'd Anthems, and unhallow'd Hymns,
Will never make the Crime forgotten
Till such as he are Dead and Rotten;
Nor can that Sin e'er be forgiven,
Till their Repenting's Seal'd in Heaven:
Unless they wrest the Angry Rod
From th'Hand of an Almighty GOD;
And would Usurp upon their Maker,
Like Lucifer, their Undertaker;
Or else, for fear of Plotting Papists,
Attempt to make all Men turn Atheists.
Great JOVE of old such Giants hurl'd
Down to convince th'Aspiring World.
In spite of Plague and Fire fullfilling
GOD's Vengeances against King-Killing,
Th'obdurate Whigs persist in Temper,
Are obstinately iidem Semper;
T'oppose Her who is Still the same
Of Her Grand-Father's Faith and Name:
Her MOTTO's to preserve the Crown,
But theirs is meant to pull it down.
When WHITEHALL last was all in Flames,
Near to the helpless gliding Thames,
This glad Incendiary was pleased
To vent his Gall, and have it eased
Of his inhumane dogged Malice
Against the STUART's harmless Palace;
Which never did him any wrong
To make him write its Fun'ral Song:
For little Curs don't bite a Stone,
Till it is fiercely at 'em thrown;
Or hits, or bruises them, or breaks some Bone.
But for detested things committed
By STUARTS there, he thought them fitted
And it a Judgment was but just,
To see it burnt down to the Dust:
As if kind Heaven punish'd Houses
For Persons Crimes, whom he abuses.
How came Fire then not to destroy All,
As well the now call'd Chappel Royal?
Why, He does give us this bold Reason:
Because King Charles, for High Treason,
Was Executed just before it
(For which he must for e'er adore it)
By Publick Justice of the Land;
That Stately Pile does therefore stand.
Thus he, with heinous Joy transported,
Condemns the Place which he once courted.
Sure Cruel Nero did but grin,
Compar'd with Tutchin's merry Pin,
At his own burning Shame and flaming Sin;
As merry then unto the Life,
As when he kist the Miller's Wife;
Who kindled with a new Desire,
Extinguish'd soon his ruder Fire:
He's better far at those Intrigues
Among the purest Female Whigs,
And understands the Petticoat
More than the Politicks he wrote,
E'er since He was a Whiggish Tool,
And did commence an April-Fool.
Let Him enjoy his lewd Amours,
And not disturb the Higher Pow'rs
With Notions as corrupt as his own Whores.
Howe'er, perhaps this Upstart Rumper,
A Commonwealth's New-Model'd Trumper,
A Broker Trooper, or Solliciter
For Rebels All, to speak Simpliciter;
Who does delight so much in Burning,
And his own Country overturning:
Can yet some Tidings or Tale tell us
Of those Mischievous wicked Fellows,
By whose Conspiracy poor London
With fatal Fire was wholly undone;
His Antient Friends and old Acquaintance:
Presbytery and Independence
Set People still at Work on thinking,
The Good Old Cause was almost sinking;
For discontent with th'King's Returning,
They were resolv'd to fall a-burning,
And lay Glad London all in Mourning.
We may with Reason now remember,
It was the Third of Black September;
Which Old Noll call'd his Lucky Day
Thro' all his vast Usurping Sway:
Till, on This Day, he fairly paid
The damned Contract he had made.
If Others so observ'd the Day,
Perhaps they may as dearly pay.
Dissenters thus were still a-Plotting,
And Loyal Men with Lyes besotting;
That hidden Fires they should not quench,
Till Scotland had call'd-in the FRENCH;
Or English Whigs had done as much,
Betray'd our Country to the Dutch;
For Oliverian Rebels taught 'em
To Burn our safest Ships at Chatham:
So that a Royalist still dreads;
To be reveng'd of Crowned Heads,
They'd Sacrifice this Happy Isle,
And make it but One Fun'ral Pile.
How Jolly Tutchin's Heart would flutter
To see the govern'd Nation's utter
Destruction, and the STUARTS Names
Extinct, and Commonwealth Men's Frames
Rise, Phœnix like, out of their dying Flames!
How he'd Rejoyc'd in witty Flashes,
If OXFORD had been laid in Ashes,
Not to be quench'd with humane Gore;
As it was threaten'd heretofore
By a Great Son of a deluded Whore!
He might Tantivees then have Sounded,
Like any prosperous Old Round-Head,
And made the Royalists acknowledge,
The Martyrdom of Murd'ring Colledge;
Whose deep-projected Racee-Show
Was to have struck Another Blow,
As Fatal as the Former Stroke;
Which greater Wrath does still Invoke:
But Rowland, Oliver soon Sounded,
And so their Plots were All confounded.
Perhaps He'll say I am mistaken,
To save his Own and his Friend's Bacon;
They have Another Game to play,
And can distinguish their Old Way:
The Presbyterians did not do it,
And th'Independents must allow it.
But when that Royal Blood was spilt,
Their Hands were Both imbrew'd in Guilt;
And Equally concern'd they were;
Each had his Wish, each had his Pray'r,
These cut his Head-off, Those held-up his Hair.
But after All this mighty Bustle,
Enough to vex the Ghost of A---sel;
Great Sh---bury's sure Rest Disquiet,
And make Dissenter's all run Riot;
Or raise the Manes of the Dead,
Who Cerberus in Triumph lead,
To justify their Faction's spreading,
And, Hydra-like, our Kings Beheading:
His viler Principles must come next,
To keep the Closer to his Text
Of preaching up Rebellious Notions;
Binding as Witches seal'd Devotions;
Who having Sign'd the Black Decree
Must ne'er look back to MONARCHY:
But act on still, altho' they damned be,
Unless they could by Craft Hell level,
And so Usurp upon the Devil.
His First Advance runs very High,
Demands to know the Reason, why
Ballads are sung of Oliverians,
Reflecting on the Presbyterians;
Boldly prescribes unto the Nation,
To damn such Things by Proclamation:
Angry to find himself among
The Old Phanatick Rebel-Throng,
The Basest Subject of that Loyal Song.
Thus touch him in an Antient Sore,
A gall'd Horse Winces still the more.
He raises next his Soaring Flights
Against the dang'rous JACOBITES;
For 'tis High-Treason, of his making,
To say NON-JURORS are for taking
The Oaths, or that they love QUEEN ANN,
Shew what Respect so e'er they can:
So he deters Them from Complying
By his Notorious way of Lying;
For if t'affirm They love-Her, be
A Capital gross Injury,
Then, in the Name of Newgate, why
Less Sin t'assert They will comply?
For fear, according to his Reason,
Of being Guilty of High Treason.
In Monstrous and Uncrowning Strokes,
To please Republican-Good-Fo'kes;
He oft attacks the QUEEN with Spight,
And grants the People equal Right;
He questions Her PREROGATIVE
Extended farther than they give:
And if She ever Higher mount,
They'll call Her to Severe Account.
As, he does heartily declare,
He wishes that She falsely were
For a most Innocent and just Affair;
Leave for a Person's coming over
From France to Rochester or Dover,
To settle some Domestick Matters
Here, or beyond the Irish Waters.
What ails this mighty furious Man?
She with her brought no Warming-Pan.
Ay; but She might have here detected
What he had long ago Projected:
As if the Lady of Tyrconnel
Might have their Practices undone All;
Their Secret Historyes Betray,
Confound th'Intrigues of Mary Gray.
But now he may be out of Pain,
For She's long since return'd again;
Without Impostor or a Bastard
Fobbed upon this jealous Dastard:
Altho' th'Imaginary Whore
Had justly laid it at his Door;
Chimera-Brat of his own Getting
For want of Royal Parents fitting;
When he threw-up his Nose in Air,
And, Stallion-like, could Smell a Mare,
Had not at all conceiv'd a Son and Heir.
At this rate, on a slight Occasion,
The QUEEN must buckle to the Nation;
The People's Pow'r's Co-ordinate
With Royal Might, in a Free-State;
Which has been more than one good Prince's Fate.
Thus he revives what was invented
To make our KINGS be Parliamented;
Accountable for ev'ry Action,
To please a Domineering Faction;
And make the Contradiction good,
A QUEEN, and NO QUEEN understood.
He damns the Bishop's Pow'r and Clergy's,
For High-Flown Sons of Boanerges.
Such Superstitious False Black Coats
In Parliaments should have no Votes;
Nor for the Members in Election,
To make Secure their own Protection.
Bishops with Insolence he treats,
And says they ought to have no Seats
In the most Noble House of Lords,
By Testimony he affords
From none but Cromwell's Cancelled Records.
He'd not allow a Convocation
Of Clergy-Men t'assist the Nation,
Unless they Quarrell'd about Right
Of Sitting and Adjourning might:
So when Two Dogs oft fight alone,
The Third Dog carry's off the Bone.
From hence he does Prognosticate
By Partridge's Foreboding Pate,
Or his own duller Hatching Brains,
There will be Arbitrary Reigns;
And so they fill the Nation's Ears
With spreading Jealousies and Fears:
For what says Oliverian Ra'pho?
Our Constitution is not Safe, ho!
The People are made Silly Fools,
Not Right in Church, nor State, nor Schools;
But must the Youth of their Perswasion
Put out to Foreign Education:
He means, to Prompt the next Invasion.
Thus this Rebellion-Observator,
The very Kingdom's Nutmeg-Grater;
Would Monarchy, with Sweet Surmises,
E'en crumble into Whiggish Spices,
That should, in Frolick, Season High
The next ensuing Calves-Head-Pye;
To which he would with bolder Face
Than Cromwell's Chaplain e'er, say Grace.
What signify our Cramping Laws
Which Gospel-Liberty o'eraws?
For tho' it teach profound Submission
To Pow'rs of Lawful Acquisition;
We've had Good Kings and Princes many,
But Whigs were never True to any:
That Scripture is Obscure, Perplext;
They're not included in the Text.
This Argument they had from T---land,
Who lately ran away to Holland,
With his own Scripture-Canon blest;
For fear, It our Divines should wrest,
Because he durst not stand a Learned Test.
Pryn, Burton, and their Writers All,
Were Wiser far than Great St. Paul.
Th'Apostles did not understand
The Constitution of this Land;
Or else, he thinks, they had not Paid
Obedience Passive to Crown'd Head;
But made Rebellion a Successful Trade:
Their Corn by his own Bushel measures
Against our Royal injur'd Cæsars;
Who are Renown'd to Turks and Tartars,
For dying their vile Subjects Martyrs.
In Passion now and Truth begins
The Catalogue of their Black Sins.
Who Tamper'd first with Good Queen Betty?
But She soon silenc'd their Impetu-
Ous Clamours; took the wisest Course,
And put the Strictest Laws in Force.
Who yet did gain a Point in Game,
Trepann'd a Queen of Royal Fame?
For they by never ceasing Plots
Brought to the Block the Queen of Scots.
Who then Imprison'd James the First
And for his Blood did greatly Thirst?
Gowry's Conspiracy will speak
Their Base Assassinating Freak.
Who did his Pious Son Behead?
But All his Murderers are Dead:
And English Whigs are yet no better Bred.
Who after that, went on and reckon'd
Themselves Cock Sure of Charles the Second?
But disappointed of their Hope,
They did Repent in Loyal Rope.
The Gang Complotted more than once,
Would fain have made Dice of his Bones.
Who Clubb'd at last, Caball'd, and Crowded
To get the DUKE of YORK Excluded
From our Succession so Renowned;
But baffl'd in their end, Him Crowned
With Flatteries and false Addresses,
And Hypocritical Carresses.
But now He's fairly Dead and gone,
And has forgiven ev'ry one.
If He had at their Mercys lay,
He'd pass'd to Heav'n Another Way.
Amasement stops my silent Mouth,
To tell each Circumstance of Truth.
The Persons I have spar'd to name,
For Mr. F---guson's own Fame;
Who, it is hoped, is not now the same.
Those were Dissenters horrid Crimes
In Older Reigns and Former Times;
And if those Notions now revive,
How should this Kingdom ever Thrive?
Th'Occasional Communicants
May run their tolerated Rants:
But why such Liberties pursue?
What Scotland will not yet allow,
Why should they claim as their just Due,
A Toleration here, and not there too?
The Scots are playing fine Vagaries,
As They were Govern'd by the Fairies;
They've made their New Associations,
Against true English Innovations,
And all Episcopal Invasions.
They strongest Covenants now have made
To follow their old Solemn Trade
Of Basket-making, and Rebelling,
Rather than Change their settled Dwelling.
But if no Law these Whigs controuls,
Implacable and restless Souls;
The fatal Wound again will Fester;
Our honest Lands all they'll Sequester;
And to support their growing Babel,
They'll turn St. PAUL's into a Stable;
Or bring about, as Drunken Sin does,
A Reformation of Glass Windows.
Now if this Chronical Disease
From Government receives no ease,
I cannot here prescribe a Cure
For such a Frantick Calenture.
This Good and Loyal Parliament will sure:
Consider of such Ways and Means
As may best now preserve the QUEEN's
Authority from Whiggish Pow'rs;
Which would fain turn Her out of Doors:
As Her FOREFATHERS honour'd were
To graze, and breath a Foreign Air.
The Parliament can soon find out
A Matter of so much Dispute;
Whether the Nation is secure,
Without the PENAL LAWS in Ure?
For whatsoever they did then,
Like Tragedies they'd act again;
'Cause they're the same Obdurate Wretches,
And hate the QUEEN should wear the Breeches:
That is, should Govern; Be Commanding
Men, of a shrewder Understanding.
As if Great Hannover were Landing.