 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
Satire on old Rowley.
1
How our good King does Papists hateAt ev'ry coming Sessions!
Then of his Laws he'll nothing bate,
But make perhaps some fresh ones.
At other times he's rul'd by's Brother,
As was his Father by his Mother.
2
Silly and sauntering he goesFrom French Whore to Italian,
Unlucky in whate'er he does,
An old ill-favour'd Stallion.
108
And ev'ry Punk and Party please.
3
Now he by Hyde, then Clifford rules,Osborne and up-start Fellows;
When the Whores want, they're Knaves and Fools,
As he himself can tell us.
Till then tho Parliaments complain,
He says they're rude, and hate his Reign.
4
A pretty Set he has at handOf slimy Portsmouth's Creatures,
G---n, Lory, Sund---d,
French Gamesters and deep Betters:
Who would reform this brutal Nation,
And bring French Slavery in fashion.
5
King of three mighty Kingdoms heThinks Beggars only loyal,
Knaves wise, French true, and Popery
Quite clear'd at Wakeman's Tryal.
Nay, what seem'd never to be done,
The Chits have made him hate his Son.
6
Rise drousy Prince, like Sampson shakeThese green Wyths from about thee,
Banish their Dalilah, and make
Thy People no more doubt thee.
In vain they fright thee with a War,
Thou art not hated, tho they are.
7
Rogue, Knave, and Bigot all love thee,Because they fear thy Brother,
Queen Mary's Days they would not see,
And can expect no other.
No Misery a Land can want,
Rul'd by a Fool, Goat, Tyrant, Saint.
109
8
Men say we act like Forty Two,Yet none tells thee the Reason;
Yet when the same Diseases grow,
Like Medicines come in season.
Twice we thy Armies have o'erthrown,
And without Blood voted them down.
9
Dukes thou creat'st, yet want'st an Heir;Thy Portuguese is barren;
Marry again, and ne'er despair
In this leud Age we are in.
Some Harry Jarmyn will be found,
To get an Heir fit to be crown'd.
10
Thy Brother York would come to Blows,While thou art yet in Being;
He shall not rule as now he does,
While thou art yet foreseeing.
But if thou'rt wise, deceive his Hope,
Leave him to Irish, French, and Pope.
11
Thou dost not use the Pow'r in hand,Yet for the Ills that are done,
When Rogues pretend thy own Command,
Thou'rt ready with a Pardon;
As if 'twere thy Prerogative,
That Murd'rers, Knaves, and Traytors live.
12
For shame give o'er; new Counsels chuse,If with the Eyes of others
Thou need'st must see, thy Nation's use,
And not thy Popish Brother's.
Brother to Brother should be kind,
Yet bear thee Littleton in mind.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |