Poems on Affairs of State

Look how the Country-Hobbs with wonder flock
To see the City-Crest turn'd Weathercock!
Which with each shifting Gale, veers to and fro;
London has now got twelve Strings to her Bow!
The Wind's South-East, & straight the Dragon russels
His brazen Wings, to court the Breeze from Brussels!
The Wind's at North! and now his Hissing Fork
Whirls round, to meet a flattering Gale from York!
Boxing the Compass with each freshing Gale,
But still to London turns his threatning Tail.
But stay! what's there? I spy a stranger thing;
Our Red-cross brooded by the Dragon's Wing!
The Wing is warm; but O beware the Sting!
Poor English-Cross, expos'd to Winds and Weathers,
Forc't to seek shelter in the Dragon's Feathers!
Ne'er had old Rome so rare a Piece to brag on,
A Temple built to Great Bell and the Dragon!
Whilst yet undaunted Protestants dare hope,
They that will worship Bell, shall wear the Rope.
O how our English Chronicles will shine!
Burnt sixty six, Rebuilt in seventy nine.
When Jacob Hall on his High Rope shews Tricks,
The Dragon flutters; the Lord Mayor's Horse kicks:
The Cheapside-Crouds, and Pageants, scarcely know
Which most t'admire, Hall, Hobby-Horse, or Bow!

380

But what mad Frenzy set your Zeal on fire,
(Grave Citizens!) to raise Immortal Spire
On Sea-coal Basis? which will sooner yield
Matter to burn a Temple, than to build!
What the Coals build, the Ashes bury: no Men
Of Wisdom, but would dread the threatning Omen!

But say (Proud Dragon!) now prefer'd so high,
What Marvels from that Prospect dost thou spy?
Westward thou seest, and seeing hat'st the Walls
Of sometimes Rev'rend, now Regenerate Pauls.
Thy envious Eyes such Glories cannot brook,
But as the Devil once o'er Lincoln, look:
And Envy's Poison will thy Bowels tear,
Sooner than Daniel's Dose of Pitch and Hair.

Then Eastward, to avoid that wounding sight,
Thy glaring Eyes upon the Mum-glass light.
Adorn'd with monstrous Forms to clear the scope,
How much thou art out-dragon'd by the Pope.
Ah Fools! to dress a Monument of Wo
In whistling Silks, that should in Sackcloth go!
Nay strangely wise our Senators appear
To build That, and a Bedlam in a Year,
That if the Mum-glass crack, they may inherit
An Hospital becoming their great Merit!

To Royal Westminster next turn thine Eye;
Perhaps a Parliament thou mayst espy.
Dragons of old gave Oracles at Rome;
Then prophesy their Day, their Date, and Doom!

And if thy visual Ray can reach the Main;
Tell's when the Duke, new gone, returns again!
Facing about, next view our Guildhall well,
Where Reverend Fox-furs charm'd by potent spell
Of Elephants (turn'd wrong side outward) dare
Applaud the Plays, and yet hiss out the Player:
Player! whose wise Zeal for City, Country, King,
Shall to all Points of the wide Compass ring,
Whilst Bow has Bells, or Royal Thames a Spring!

381

Thy roving Eye perhaps from Hague may send's
How the New League has made old Foes new Friends:
But let substantial Witness Credence give it,
Or ne'er believe me, if the House believe it!
If true, I fear too late! France at one sup
(Like Pearls dissolv'd in Cleopatra's Cup)
Trade, Empire, Netherlands has swallow'd up!

But hark! the Dragon speaks from brazen Mouth,
Whose Words, tho Wind, are spoken in good South!
To you of ratling Fame, and great Esteem;
The higher plac'd, the less you ought to seem!
To you of noble Souls, and gallant Minds,
Learn to out-face (with me) the huffing Winds!
To tim'rous feeble Spirits, that live beneath;
Learn not of me to turn with every Breath!
To those who (like Camelions) live on Air;
Popular Praise is thin consumptive Fare!
To you who Steeple upon Steeple set,
Cut my Cocks-comb, if e'er to Heaven you get.

University of Virginia Library

Upon the stately Structure of Bow-Church and Steeple, Burnt Ann. 1666. Rebuilt 1679.