Poems on Affairs of State

And now and then for nimble Bounds,
Or treading down their Neighbours Grounds,
Their Dog-lookt Friends amongst the Hounds,
Are dub'd with great Devotion.

Such recreant Knights, accoutred fine
With Sword and Mace, their steps incline
To a large House, where Sin and Wine
On equal Terms are vended;

259

Its Name I know not, tho 'tis said
And thought by most, 'twas the Popes-Head,
For there like Friends they might be sped,
And carefully attended.

The first was of as strong a Make,
As ever Lance in Justing brake,
Or handled Sword for Ladies sake,
In Turky or in Persy:

From Top to Toe, from Head to Heel,
He cas'd himself in burnish'd Steel;
For Yard, a Spear he now does feel,
And Mail instead of Kersy.

The next that carry'd on the Fight,
With ponderous Mace of mickle Might,
Was Hangman, Senator and Knight,
A strange three-headed Monster:

Whom scandalizing Whigs in Sport,
When to their Brethren they resort,
That he's ally'd to the French Court,
By's Name's Resemblance conster.

The S---f can't the L---s hide,
The Knightly Spurs must needs be spy'd,
Tho the Gold Chain's about 'em ty'd,
The better to obscure 'em;

Th'Ass is an Ass, tho cloth'd he be
In the cast Robes of Majesty,
Tho his long Ears Beasts cannot see,
From trembling to secure 'em.

The Third, a proper Man 'tis true,
But that his Legs did stand askew,
And both like Sampson's Foxes grew,
One this way, that the other;

Nought but their equal Ugliness,
Their equal Shape, and equal Dress,
Could make th'amaz'd Beholder guess,
That this to that was Brother.

260

With him I would not enter Strife,
Nor try a Fall to save my Life,
For as a Bone upon a Knife,
My Legs would split on his-'n:

This may without a stretch be sed;
Upon my Neck should he but tread,
He'd certainly cut off my Head,
Before my Tail were ris'n.

Enough of these, too much I fear:
Now of the Giant you shall hear,
That did with Blood their Chaps besmear,
And eke their sides bombasted;

How on their Skulls he Blows did rain,
And kickt 'em down, and up again;
How with no little Grief and Pain
They from his Clutches hasted.

His outward Parts were something small;
'Twas th'inward Powers that acted all;
Yet tho a Giant him we call,
Let not the Tories blame us:

For as close Flames more fiercely roll,
Imprison'd in a narrow Hole;
So 'twas his brave Gigantick Soul
Made's Pygmee-Body Famous.

All Tory Cloth, and Drapers too,
With Fist, or else with Indigo,
He's us'd to dye both black and blue,
The best in all the Nation;

And lest his Customers be found,
Some do suppose he has been bound
By heavy Bag of hundred Pound,
To hide his Occupation.

This Dragon-firking Hercules,
This Cadmus, This—e'en what you please,
That direful Monsters quell'd with Ease,
And drag'd from horrid Cavern;

261

The matter few distinguish can,
Whether he freely thither ran,
Or was entic'd by a Trepan,
And wheedled to the Tavern.

Who there behind the Door should lurk,
But a false misbelieving Turk,
Who thus began the Devil's Work,
VVith Glass fast claspt in Clutches.

Ah Sirrah! have we got you here?
Come pledg a Health to th'Grand-Visier,
Or else with speed my Cimiter
Shall make new room for Crutches.

Sad was the Christian Champion's Case;
He had nor Battel-axe, nor Mace,
Yet stoutly he took Heart-a-grace,
And thus defies the Pagan:

False Recreant Wretch as e'er did wield
An unbecoming Lance, or Shield!
My Head as soon as Knees I'll yield
To your Great Bell, and Dragon.

Jack Adams struts about the Rooms,
And swears, and sinks, and cocks and fumes,
That thus one Stubborn Whig presumes
On three arm'd Knights to venture;

Sirrah you Dog! d'ye prate, d'ye prate?
Must Captives then capitulate?
Dispatch; or else I'll break your Pate,
And ram ye to the Center.

No sooner said, no sooner done,
The Fight was instantly begun;
A Blow he struck enough to stun
The stoutest Knight in London:

Some fav'ring God, or powerful Charm,
To save a courteous Knight from harm,
I'th' nick came underneath his Arm,
Or there he had been undone.

262

The empty Sword slid glancing by;
Not so our Champion, who must try
Bravely to conquer, or to die,
By hand of miscreant Heathen;

But since he saw the War begin,
He won't for nothing sell his Skin,
But if his reach they come within,
He'll give his Foes a breathing.

His Fist he bends, and dings it right
At's Worship's Face with all his Might,
Down on the Floor my gentle Knight
All in a heap does tumble:

As when one Mungril you attack,
The yelping Cur your steps will track,
And raise the Parish on your back,
His Friends began to grumble.

In our Relation to be brief,
Sir Simon Suck-egg was the chief,
That brought his Brother Fool relief,
Than all his Fellows madder;

He by his quondam Honours swore,
By forked Crest the Arms he bore,
And by his Mistress, alias W---
To turn him o'er the Ladder.

But tho his Hands were thick and long,
His Weapon ponderous and strong,
And he with Mace laid on ding-dong,
Yet still our Champion tight-stood;

And after many a crabbed Jowle,
Putting aside his weighty Pole,
He takes him o'er the Jobbernole,
And down he fetcht poor Knighthood.

In Triumph over them he goes,
Thinking he'ad conquer'd all his Foes,
And under his victorious Toes
He stamps their batter'd Faces;

263

Sir Simon's Beauty went to pot,
That tho in Love he had been hot,
His Mistriss soon restore would not
Her Favours and good Graces.

Beat Death's Alarm upon the Drums!
'Ware Shanks! 'ware Shanks! Sir Harry comes;
He bit for Anger both his Thumbs,
And at our Champion yawned;

He like Alcides did provide
To guard himself on either side,
When Hydra's Coxcombs multiply'd,
And two for one were spawned.

With Corps erect, and Visage grim,
One Foot he plants on simple Sim,
Who sadly growled under him;
Sir Bobb supported t'other:

With an undaunted Meen, and Air,
His conqu'ring Arms he high does rear,
And for the third Assault prepare,
To drub their Friend and Brother.

So have I seen a sprightly Cat,
That purring in a Corner sat,
In Ambuscade for lusty Rat,
Sworn Foe to Cheese and Bacon:

When two young Mice that frisking out,
From a low Port of their Redoubt,
By Governours command to scout,
VVere in her Clutches taken.

Their piercing Shrieks the Fort affright;
Out sallies Rat, prepar'd to fight,
As fierce as any Tory Knight,
Upon her madly falling;

Puss in two Paws shuts Captive Mice,
To hinder Rescue, or Surprise;
With th'other at her Foe does rise,
And down she cuffs him sprawling.

264

Doughty Sir Hall a tiptoe stands,
With mighty Fauchion rear'd in Hands,
And Satisfaction demands,
For both his Friends Mischances;

He winks, and then Pell-mell let's drive,
Aiming his Head in twain to rive;
That was the gentlest Knight alive;
But flatlong on't it glances.

Our Champion's Head, and Brains ran round,
Down he was sinking in a Sound,
But yet as soon's he toucht the Ground,
Up leapt he like Antæus :

The Turks Arrears he paid him soon,
Tho he for Grace did importune,
And made him see more Stars at Noon,
Than e'er did Galilæus .

In vain the Wretch for Help does bawl,
On Back, and Sides, and Face and all,
With Knightly Prowess he does fall,
And many a trusty greeting;

He laid on Load on empty Crown,
Until with a most gracious Frown,
His Honour too came ratling down,
To give his Friends a meeting.

Stout Whig their Noses gently tweaks,
Their Sculls, tho thick, all over breaks,
And his just Anger on 'em wreaks
For their Affront Notorious:

He rends their Lace, and Linen pure,
(Who can so sad a sight endure?)
And Point-Cravats, and Garniture,
That made 'em look so glorious.

265

Their empty Crowns rang jangling Peals,
Their Foe chimes backward, and reveals
The Fire that their warm Ear conceals
Whilst they're in woful pickle:

Had you but seen 'em how they sat,
Spoil'd of their Cloak, and Band, and Hat,
You would conclude they had been at
A Bristow Conventicle.

Now on the Floor their Corps he spreads,
Now on their Neck in Triumph treads,
Then disoblig'd their Loggerheads,
Jumbling them altogether:

And if they once but curst or frown'd,
He roll'd 'em round, and round, and round,
Trailing their Clothes about the Ground,
They knew not how nor whither.

Sometimes on their fat Guts he jumps,
Sometimes their Paunches rudely thumps,
And on their Heads makes Egg-like bumps,
Whilst their poor Pates were addled;

Now he their Jaws accosts with Hand,
Now on his Leg prepar'd did stand,
To give their Tails a Reprimand,
And now their Sides he swaddled.

Still he lets drive his furious Blows,
Until at last, as most suppose,
The Reverent Sirs affront his Nose,
With Paracelsian Civet;

A T---d they did!

So crafty Reynard now and then,
When outed by intruding Men,
Be-s--- the cleanly Badger's Den,
To make his Land-Lord leave it.

The Tories their bang'd Sides bemoan,
They sadly yelp, O hone! O hone!
And with full many a dolorous Groan,
Hold up their Paws for pity.

266

Sir Bobb and Hal did deeply yell,
But who his direful Plaints can tell,
That was, while it seem'd good to Hell,
A Burden to the City?

Thirteen-Pence-Half-penny he'd bestow
With generous Fist on Conqu'ring Foe,
If he'd be pleas'd to let him go
But for one live-long Moment:

But since some wiser are than some,
Our Champion threatens with a Drum
Beating before to kick 'em home,
Altho he ne'er so meant.

As soon as they had strength to rise,
For Crick in Neck, in Back, in Thighs,
They look'd about to find their Eyes,
Thinking he'd beat 'em all out:

So have I seen a maimed Snail,
When by rude Heels its Rampires fail,
Dragging along its slimy Tail,
From thence attempt to crawl out.

The Christian had a Noble Soul,
And when he saw 'em thus condole,
He grants 'em Freedom on Parole,
While Fame his Glory raises:

This Tell-tale Goddess had a Spy
That brought her word immediately;
About the City she does fly,
And trumpets out his Praises.

Of Tory Champions, fierce and stout,
London and England all throughout,
She the Atchievements spreads about,
And of their Valour tattles;

But with sly Malice chiefly she
Does magnify their Courtesy,
When they to odds must yield or flee
In such unequal Battels.

267

For when, by unexpected Chance,
One did against all Three advance,
They yielded out of Complaisance,
And took a Civil Drubbing:

But since, altho Cock-sure, they fail,
And Three to One could not prevail,
Thus did the Hot-spur Courage quail
Of poor Heroick Robin.

Fame's a damn'd Whig, they fret and cry,
(Screwing their Mouths up to their Eye)
If e'er we meet her she shall dye;
Kiss and tell! Out upon her!

Fortune we find's a fickle Whore,
We'll never trust the Gypsy more:
(Thus like a Bittern they did roar)
Our Honour! O our Honour!

Their Friends advise 'em to compound;
If lusty Dyer may be found,
And get him unto silence bound,
Altho he hard to win is;

With sense profound they gravely say,
'Twould be the best and safest way,
To lock his Lips with Silver Kay,
Or gag his Mouth with Guinies.

'Twas spoke, and instantly 'twas done;
Whilst they their Pockets rummage, one
To every Coffee-House does run,
To find Victorious Dyer:

They reason'd on the Point, and he
Because they're Friends wont disagree,
But out of mere Civility
He grants 'em their Desire.

Else how is he so chang'd become?
He answers nothing now but Mum!
To all Enquirers deaf and dumb,
Strangely retir'd o'th' sudden.

268

Ask him about it, ask again,
Tho of his Silence you complain,
Yet still you'll ask, and ask in vain;
For, not a word o'th' Pudding.

There's your true Spaniels for you, Sirs;
Kick 'em, they'll love you ne're the worse,
But, like good Christian honest Curs,
Or Women of Moscovy,

The longer Cudgel one provides,
To exercise their Back and Sides,
The longer their Good-will abides,
And they'll the longer love ye.

But, Tories, take a Friend's Advice,
Well-willer to your Nose and Eyes,
That never lik'd this Enterprize,
To Whig-land so delighting:

Drink for the Duke while you can stand,
Chase all Phanaticks round the Land,
With Glasses ready charg'd in Hand;
But pray take heed of Fighting.

Antæus, a famous Moorfields Wrestler, who the oftner he was foil'd the more strength he had.

Galilæus an old Conjurer (kin to Gadbury) that saw the Stars at Noon with a spying Glass.

University of Virginia Library

ΓΙΓΑΝΤΟΜΑΧΙΑ,

Or a full and true Relation of the Great and Bloody Fight between three Pagan Knights and a Christian Giant. 1682.