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 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
Let creeping Play'rs, whose pliant Fancies can
Sneak to the Devil, and call him Gentleman;
How long has Northern Air so Sovereign been
To purge the Plot, and sanctify a Sin?
'Tis well for England, if at last it find
The Traitor's Noxious Humours left behind,
Which long have been fomented by the Spoil
Of that old-fashion'd honest Fool Argyle,
Who lost a noble Fortune, on pretence
Of a fond thing the Whigs call Conscience.
His Fall, and Thynn's, if rightly understood,
Were only doom'd to flesh the Hounds in Blood.
The Way's chalkt out, tho Fear retard the Blow,
'Tis plain, that once a Rogue and ever so.
Treason's the Gangrene of a mounting Soul,
Which, if not soon cut off, infects the Whole.
Tho Heav'n in Anger sometimes may relieve,
Pardons still do not follow a Reprieve.
Not fell Charibdis, Godwins, and the Ore,
If Fate ordain't, shall keep a Prince from Shoar;
Since he that would by Brother's Blood be crown'd,
Shall (tho in Egg-shell Frigat) ne'er be drown'd.
Sneak to the Devil, and call him Gentleman;
How long has Northern Air so Sovereign been
To purge the Plot, and sanctify a Sin?
334
The Traitor's Noxious Humours left behind,
Which long have been fomented by the Spoil
Of that old-fashion'd honest Fool Argyle,
Who lost a noble Fortune, on pretence
Of a fond thing the Whigs call Conscience.
His Fall, and Thynn's, if rightly understood,
Were only doom'd to flesh the Hounds in Blood.
The Way's chalkt out, tho Fear retard the Blow,
'Tis plain, that once a Rogue and ever so.
Treason's the Gangrene of a mounting Soul,
Which, if not soon cut off, infects the Whole.
Tho Heav'n in Anger sometimes may relieve,
Pardons still do not follow a Reprieve.
Not fell Charibdis, Godwins, and the Ore,
If Fate ordain't, shall keep a Prince from Shoar;
Since he that would by Brother's Blood be crown'd,
Shall (tho in Egg-shell Frigat) ne'er be drown'd.
Which stockt Seraglio's, and rich Grand Viziers,
Th'industrious Tory truck for Officers.
In sober sadness, Sirs, how goes the Price?
Are Sheriffs lately grown good Merchandize?
Sure, Brethren, we may fear the Cause is low,
When you for Cordials unto Turkey go:
When nothing else the desperate Game retrieves,
You'l chuse the City Circumcised Shrieves:
To whom, if you would take Advice from me,
Good Father Elliot should a Chaplain be.
Some Mufties too you might have wafted o're,
But that with B---ps we were stockt before,
High rampant, swearing B---ps, tite and true,
Brisk B---ps, who have their Seraglioes too;
Who'll bid, e'er Ghostly Codpiece find rebuke,
Two hundred pounds a Year above a Duke;
Who, if their Piety were open set,
Are verier Turks than Bishop Mahomet:
Who arm'd with Sword for Pen, and Male for Gown,
With cogent Blows knock reeling Error down.
Had you some Aids of Janizaries got,
Or some bold Troops from the Timariot,
These better would have merited Rewards,
Than all your Ruby-nos'd and Whoring Guards;
Who tho to fight they could not find a Heart,
Most nobly would discharge the plundring Part.
Then we shall get as Loyal Sheriffs, when
The Lousy Regiments are Livery-men.
Th'industrious Tory truck for Officers.
In sober sadness, Sirs, how goes the Price?
Are Sheriffs lately grown good Merchandize?
Sure, Brethren, we may fear the Cause is low,
When you for Cordials unto Turkey go:
When nothing else the desperate Game retrieves,
You'l chuse the City Circumcised Shrieves:
To whom, if you would take Advice from me,
Good Father Elliot should a Chaplain be.
Some Mufties too you might have wafted o're,
But that with B---ps we were stockt before,
High rampant, swearing B---ps, tite and true,
Brisk B---ps, who have their Seraglioes too;
Who'll bid, e'er Ghostly Codpiece find rebuke,
Two hundred pounds a Year above a Duke;
Who, if their Piety were open set,
Are verier Turks than Bishop Mahomet:
335
With cogent Blows knock reeling Error down.
Had you some Aids of Janizaries got,
Or some bold Troops from the Timariot,
These better would have merited Rewards,
Than all your Ruby-nos'd and Whoring Guards;
Who tho to fight they could not find a Heart,
Most nobly would discharge the plundring Part.
Then we shall get as Loyal Sheriffs, when
The Lousy Regiments are Livery-men.
Now you by Law may freely take a Purse,
For one upon the Bench will vouch it, Sirs.
Claw me, and I'll claw thee; what, he's his Brother!
And one Good-turn, ye know, deserves another:
For that old Fox most prudently decreed
To get a pow'rful Friend in time of need;
That when he Newgate Fate approaching sees,
He may perswade him to refund his Fees;
Or, if they cannot here securely trade,
Sneak back with him, and turn a Renegade.
For one upon the Bench will vouch it, Sirs.
Claw me, and I'll claw thee; what, he's his Brother!
And one Good-turn, ye know, deserves another:
For that old Fox most prudently decreed
To get a pow'rful Friend in time of need;
That when he Newgate Fate approaching sees,
He may perswade him to refund his Fees;
Or, if they cannot here securely trade,
Sneak back with him, and turn a Renegade.
Poor Tories! have you none but him in store,
Who's now been thum'b so oft he'll hold no more?
Can you provide no better Partner than
An Unbeliever for a Mussulman?
Those are but mungrel Turks (to tell you true)
Who love not Christian better than a Jew;
And, if they will not take a Friend's Advice,
Shall ne'er come into Mahomet's Paradise.
Who's now been thum'b so oft he'll hold no more?
Can you provide no better Partner than
An Unbeliever for a Mussulman?
Those are but mungrel Turks (to tell you true)
Who love not Christian better than a Jew;
And, if they will not take a Friend's Advice,
Shall ne'er come into Mahomet's Paradise.
Degenerate London! Slave to Mighty Pelf!
Degenerate London! Stranger to thy Self!
Are these thy Senators? thy Fathers sage?
Sure, if they are, they dote with Gold and Age.
There was, alas! there was a time when we
Esteem'd our Lives below our Liberty;
When, if our dying Country we could save,
We'ad sung on Tombs, & triumph'd on the Grave,
Joyfully fal'n on her beloved Face,
And perish'd in our Mother's dear Imbrace.
That nobler Ardour long ago is fled;
The Slaves are living, and the Heroes dead.
We peep into the Hall, and whoop, and then,
Fools as we went, like Fools come back agen:
For Shrieves, like Larks in falling Skies, we gape,
And dance Attendance on the Courtier's Ape,
Who (poor good-natur'd Soul) can neither have
Honesty for the Fool, nor Wit for Knave.
He's a strange piece of Linsy-Woolsy Ware,
Just such another thing as B---ps are.
Degenerate London! Stranger to thy Self!
Are these thy Senators? thy Fathers sage?
Sure, if they are, they dote with Gold and Age.
There was, alas! there was a time when we
Esteem'd our Lives below our Liberty;
When, if our dying Country we could save,
We'ad sung on Tombs, & triumph'd on the Grave,
336
And perish'd in our Mother's dear Imbrace.
That nobler Ardour long ago is fled;
The Slaves are living, and the Heroes dead.
We peep into the Hall, and whoop, and then,
Fools as we went, like Fools come back agen:
For Shrieves, like Larks in falling Skies, we gape,
And dance Attendance on the Courtier's Ape,
Who (poor good-natur'd Soul) can neither have
Honesty for the Fool, nor Wit for Knave.
He's a strange piece of Linsy-Woolsy Ware,
Just such another thing as B---ps are.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |