 | Works of John Taylor the Water Poet not included in the folio volume of 1630 |  |
REBELLS Anathematized, And Anatomized:
OR, A Satyricall Salutation to the Rabble of seditious, pestiferous Pulpit-praters, with their Brethren the Weekly Libellers, Railers, and Revilers, Mercurius Britannicus, with the rest of that Sathanicall Fraternity.
13
Lo, I the Man, whose stout impartiall quill
Dares venture to confront the damned Crew,
Knaves who make will their law, and law their will,
And from the Presse and Pulpit slanders spew;
Such as with seven great Devils are possest,
Besides of small ones (Legions infinite)
Whose fiery Furies doth our Peace molest,
And to disturbe us, fight, back-bite, and write.
First, Lucifer inspires 'em all with Pride,
Next, Sathan gives 'em wrath and dire disdain;
Their malice still Belzebubs power doth guide,
And Mammon gives 'em thirst of lawlesse gain;
Belphegor is the god of Gluttony,
And Abaddon rules Sloth and Idlenesse,
Last, Asmodeus gives 'em Lechery.
And these seven Devils the Rebells do possesse,
And these have made them mad, and madly rise
Against the Lord of Hosts, and his Anointed,
Who by their Preaching and their printed Lyes,
Our Church, Lawes, States, and Freedomes have disjointed:
Wither that dainty Darling of the Dolts,
The Scout, the Scotish Dove, and the Diurnall,
These (like to Gothams Archers) shoot their bolts,
And madly strive the Truth to overturne all;
Bold Booker soares above the nineteenth spheare,
And tells us newes of strange prodigious Comets,
Portending Treasons, all which once a yeare
Most Astrologicall he squirts and vomits.
The Scribe that writes the Weekes Intelligence
Th'Occurrents, and the flying lying Poste,
To do 'em service Ile be at expence
T'allow them every day a Gravesend Toast.
These with the Cobling, Tub, pernicious Preachers,
With Prinne and Burton (sweet-fac'd crop-'ear'd Curres)
These Parliamentall props these Treason Teachers,
Have in three Kingdomes kept most stinking stirres:
Therefore yee misled Coxcombs all take heed,
Believe no more those cursed sonnes of Belial,
Their damned Cousels makes poore England bleed,
And doth from God and your Alleageance steale yee all;
Outragious Mars hath stolne Astreas sword,
And wrong (with down-right blowes) hath knock'd right down,
Whilest universally it is deplor'd,
That no man can (with justice) own his own.
Mean men to men of meanes you up have mounted,
And men of meanes you have to mean men turn'd,
The worst of Villaines you have best accounted,
God's peace, the King's, and Kingdomes yee have scorn'd;
London and Westminster ye'ave been the Chaire
Of violence, t'Act mischiefes (by a Law)
Prepare your selves, expect the dismall yeare,
Which you or your forefathers never saw.
The time will come when all these royall graces,
And peacefull offers which you scorn'd and slighted,
You shall be glad to beg for, and your faces
Full of confusion, pittilesse, despighted:
Your Propositions, (Puppy-sitions rather)
Which you to Oxford sawcily did bring,
And after that to Uxbridge, men may gather
Your meanings to the Kingdome, Church, and King.
You knew before you came, your bold demands
Unfit for you to aske, or any subjects,
As for a King to grant, that understands
Himselfe or loyall Servants, from base Abjects.
Your Parliament (pretended) coynes pretences,
And to pretend Peace you are still resolv'd,
And still run on in treacherous offences,
Wherein our miseries are all involv'd.
Worse than the Jewes, God's Houses you defile
Worse than the Heathen, you your King contemn'd
Worse than the Turkes, you Morall good exile
Worse than the Sodomites, you friends condemn'd,
Worse than the Atheists, you no God will know,
Worse than the Libertines, Lawes down you trample,
Worse than the Wolves, that can no mercy shew,
Worse than the Devill himselfe, (beyond example)
Pliny, and Gesner, and brave Mandevill,
Have wrote of Monsters, and their salvage natures;
But never tongue of man or writers quill
Could parallel you for most impious Creatures;
Your bloudy lives makes Neroes life no sin
Your faithlesse zeale makes Julian just and holy,
Your loyalties like Roman Cataline;
Beyond their Crimes all Ages shall extoll yee:
You to more cursed cruelty are turn'd
Than Idumean, Jew, Turke, Heathen, Roman,
If the Sword spare you, youle be hang'd or burn'd,
Or sterv'd, or die abhorr'd, pitied by no man.
You have been hatching Plots foure yeares and more,
Contriving and suborning Forgeries,
T'abuse the King, and yet will not give o're
To scandall him with Libells and with Lyes.
True Parliaments have held the names of Kings
Of sacred Dignity, and high esteem,
Next under God, above all earthly things,
Their Royalties and Honours they did deem;
And in this case, and all that you have done
You have declar'd your selves no Parliament;
King, Church, and Kingdome, you have all undone,
Or sought their ruine, or their detriment.
He were a cunning wise-man that could name
One good man, that hath scap'd your tyranny;
Or one whose braine, or hands could mischiefe frame,
Whom you have not advanc'd for villany.
That poyson-framing Hownd Britannicus,
That weekly snarling whelpe of Cerberus,
That Microcosme of Morbus Gallicus,
That Lernean venom'd Snake of Erebus.
The Devill oft doth good, against his will,
So you and he doth, for your damn'd despight
Proves the King's good, although you wish him ill,
And makes his royall splendour shine more bright.
Thus you may see, you Impes of impudence,
You mighty Gogmagogs of ignorance,
You Gulphes of most ridiculous non-sence,
You super-arrogating arrogance,
You cannot do the wickednesse yee would,
But on your cursed heads it doth returne;
The Devill that teacheth to blaspheme and scold,
Cannot protect you from contempt and scorne.
Since God's eternall Son was crucifide,
No Gracious Prince was ever more abus'd,
Than good King Charles, oppos'd and vilifide,
Robb'd, ransack'd, and still wickedly traduc'd.
And your almighty favours are extended
To those that could revile most, or do worst;
And by usurped power you have defended
And arm'd Rebellion, which God hath accurst.
A Parliament should cure a Kingdomes griefes,
A Parliament should publique wrongs appease;
But you in stead of giving us reliefes,
Have made the med'cine worse than the disease,
Worse, ten times worse, ten times worse double told,
The worst of ills, more bad than bad can be,
Our miseries unmeasur'd manifold,
And to three Kingdomes spoile you all agree.
Upon great Strafford first your fury fell,
His blood must temper your untemper'd morter,
His head did hinder, you could not rebell
To any purpose till he was cut shorter.
Nor could you Protestant Religion cast,
Or with such ease worke its confusion further,
Untill the tenth of January last,
You took an Arch-prop from it by foule murther.
That Function whereof the Apostles were,
Saint Peter and Saint James, and more of them,
Records Ecclesiasticall shewes cleare
Of Sees of Antioch, and Jerusalem.
And blest Saint Paul, made Bishops, (as 'twas meet)
The one young Timothy, the other Titus;
The one of Ephesus, th'other of Crete,
Who by their lives and Doctrines do enlight us,
And since for sixteen hundred yeares and more,
And Christian Churches, Kingdomes, Lands, and Climates
Have been instructed in God's Lawes and lore
By Reverend Bishops, Patriarchs, and Primates.
Therefore if men would note the aime and scope
Of these superbian haughty Independants,
Each one would in his Parish be a Pope
To whose pipes must the King and all his men dance.
Therefore beware, good countrimen beware,
Beware of them, and of a new Presbytery,
Beware their Leaven, have especiall care,
Let not their mad-brain'd Doctrine all besquitter yee.
They seem t'uphold the Protestants good Cause,
By murdering those of that Religion chiefe,
Bereaving all that Clergy, without Lawes,
Of life, goods, libertty, and all riliefe.
They feigne to purge Religion sound and sure,
By bloody Civill Warre, which will destroy it;
And they will keep it neat, sincere, and pure,
So noysome as may totally annoy it.
Blinde with rebellious or prepostrous zeale
You have possest men with most strange opinions,
That Churches ruine is the Churches weale;
And make the King great, (but without dominions)
He is your Soveraigne for your safe protection,
And you (like Subjects) will obey and serve him,
Yet you no service owe him, or subjection,
And do the worst you can to rob or sterve him.
Strife cannot be the ground of true Religion,
Your Sects, worse than the Alcaron, or Talmud,
(Like Mah'mets zeale from's jugling whispring Pigeon)
Not from the Scriptures Chrystall Fount but all mud.
What hath the Kirke of Scotland here to doe?
Must Englands Church to that be now subjected?
We are not conquer'd, or made slaves I troe;
Or so unlearn'd, by them to be directed.
Our Church with theirs doth neither meddle nor make,
Our Lawes to alter theirs do not intrude;
Why then do they presumptuous power thus take,
And censure us, as they had us subdude?
Must Oxford and her sister Cambridge both
Learne of Saint Andrews and of Aberdene?
They to be taught of us would both be loath,
Yet I am sure there is some ods between.
Let Englishmen remember what they are;
And call to minde, but what they erst have been,
And what they must be, if they not prepare,
To shun the mischiefes they are compass'd in,
You see that our Religion and our Law
Our foes would ruinate both root and branch,
And captivate us with a slavish awe,
Or with our blouds their bloudy thirst would staunch.
Upon the Crown, the Royall Paire and Race,
Upon the Peeres, the Clergy, Church, and Gentry,
Without respect of Person, Time, or Place,
To spoile all, they have made a sawcy entry.
Yet of that noble Northern Nation are
Thousands and thousands to their Soveraigne true,
And such as are not, Let consuming Warre
Confound 'em or the Hangman claime his due.
And now you Pulpiteers, and Pamphleterians,
I take my leave in you own friendly manner;
And you most high and mighty Westminsterians,
Who have (too long) displaid rebellions Banner,
For your blacke deeds, Heavens vengeance lies in store
For Bourchier, Yeomans, Tomkins, Challoner,
For Lords, Knights, Gentry, Commons, thousands more,
Whom you have murdered by intestine Warre.
The worme of conscience shall consume you lives,
Hell and damnation shall be your just hire.
Your children shall be miscreants, your wives
Begger'd, except Repentance swage God's ire,
Which that it may do, I most humbly pray,
And let our fervent prayers to Heaven ascend.
That you may turne, before the last of May.
That Englands miseries may have an—
Dares venture to confront the damned Crew,
Knaves who make will their law, and law their will,
And from the Presse and Pulpit slanders spew;
Such as with seven great Devils are possest,
Besides of small ones (Legions infinite)
Whose fiery Furies doth our Peace molest,
And to disturbe us, fight, back-bite, and write.
First, Lucifer inspires 'em all with Pride,
Next, Sathan gives 'em wrath and dire disdain;
Their malice still Belzebubs power doth guide,
And Mammon gives 'em thirst of lawlesse gain;
Belphegor is the god of Gluttony,
And Abaddon rules Sloth and Idlenesse,
Last, Asmodeus gives 'em Lechery.
And these seven Devils the Rebells do possesse,
And these have made them mad, and madly rise
Against the Lord of Hosts, and his Anointed,
Who by their Preaching and their printed Lyes,
Our Church, Lawes, States, and Freedomes have disjointed:
Wither that dainty Darling of the Dolts,
The Scout, the Scotish Dove, and the Diurnall,
These (like to Gothams Archers) shoot their bolts,
And madly strive the Truth to overturne all;
Bold Booker soares above the nineteenth spheare,
And tells us newes of strange prodigious Comets,
Portending Treasons, all which once a yeare
Most Astrologicall he squirts and vomits.
The Scribe that writes the Weekes Intelligence
Th'Occurrents, and the flying lying Poste,
To do 'em service Ile be at expence
T'allow them every day a Gravesend Toast.
These with the Cobling, Tub, pernicious Preachers,
With Prinne and Burton (sweet-fac'd crop-'ear'd Curres)
These Parliamentall props these Treason Teachers,
Have in three Kingdomes kept most stinking stirres:
14
Believe no more those cursed sonnes of Belial,
Their damned Cousels makes poore England bleed,
And doth from God and your Alleageance steale yee all;
Outragious Mars hath stolne Astreas sword,
And wrong (with down-right blowes) hath knock'd right down,
Whilest universally it is deplor'd,
That no man can (with justice) own his own.
Mean men to men of meanes you up have mounted,
And men of meanes you have to mean men turn'd,
The worst of Villaines you have best accounted,
God's peace, the King's, and Kingdomes yee have scorn'd;
London and Westminster ye'ave been the Chaire
Of violence, t'Act mischiefes (by a Law)
Prepare your selves, expect the dismall yeare,
Which you or your forefathers never saw.
The time will come when all these royall graces,
And peacefull offers which you scorn'd and slighted,
You shall be glad to beg for, and your faces
Full of confusion, pittilesse, despighted:
Your Propositions, (Puppy-sitions rather)
Which you to Oxford sawcily did bring,
And after that to Uxbridge, men may gather
Your meanings to the Kingdome, Church, and King.
You knew before you came, your bold demands
Unfit for you to aske, or any subjects,
As for a King to grant, that understands
Himselfe or loyall Servants, from base Abjects.
Your Parliament (pretended) coynes pretences,
And to pretend Peace you are still resolv'd,
And still run on in treacherous offences,
Wherein our miseries are all involv'd.
Worse than the Jewes, God's Houses you defile
Worse than the Heathen, you your King contemn'd
Worse than the Turkes, you Morall good exile
Worse than the Sodomites, you friends condemn'd,
Worse than the Atheists, you no God will know,
Worse than the Libertines, Lawes down you trample,
15
Worse than the Devill himselfe, (beyond example)
Pliny, and Gesner, and brave Mandevill,
Have wrote of Monsters, and their salvage natures;
But never tongue of man or writers quill
Could parallel you for most impious Creatures;
Your bloudy lives makes Neroes life no sin
Your faithlesse zeale makes Julian just and holy,
Your loyalties like Roman Cataline;
Beyond their Crimes all Ages shall extoll yee:
You to more cursed cruelty are turn'd
Than Idumean, Jew, Turke, Heathen, Roman,
If the Sword spare you, youle be hang'd or burn'd,
Or sterv'd, or die abhorr'd, pitied by no man.
You have been hatching Plots foure yeares and more,
Contriving and suborning Forgeries,
T'abuse the King, and yet will not give o're
To scandall him with Libells and with Lyes.
True Parliaments have held the names of Kings
Of sacred Dignity, and high esteem,
Next under God, above all earthly things,
Their Royalties and Honours they did deem;
And in this case, and all that you have done
You have declar'd your selves no Parliament;
King, Church, and Kingdome, you have all undone,
Or sought their ruine, or their detriment.
He were a cunning wise-man that could name
One good man, that hath scap'd your tyranny;
Or one whose braine, or hands could mischiefe frame,
Whom you have not advanc'd for villany.
That poyson-framing Hownd Britannicus,
That weekly snarling whelpe of Cerberus,
That Microcosme of Morbus Gallicus,
That Lernean venom'd Snake of Erebus.
The Devill oft doth good, against his will,
So you and he doth, for your damn'd despight
Proves the King's good, although you wish him ill,
And makes his royall splendour shine more bright.
16
You mighty Gogmagogs of ignorance,
You Gulphes of most ridiculous non-sence,
You super-arrogating arrogance,
You cannot do the wickednesse yee would,
But on your cursed heads it doth returne;
The Devill that teacheth to blaspheme and scold,
Cannot protect you from contempt and scorne.
Since God's eternall Son was crucifide,
No Gracious Prince was ever more abus'd,
Than good King Charles, oppos'd and vilifide,
Robb'd, ransack'd, and still wickedly traduc'd.
And your almighty favours are extended
To those that could revile most, or do worst;
And by usurped power you have defended
And arm'd Rebellion, which God hath accurst.
A Parliament should cure a Kingdomes griefes,
A Parliament should publique wrongs appease;
But you in stead of giving us reliefes,
Have made the med'cine worse than the disease,
Worse, ten times worse, ten times worse double told,
The worst of ills, more bad than bad can be,
Our miseries unmeasur'd manifold,
And to three Kingdomes spoile you all agree.
Upon great Strafford first your fury fell,
His blood must temper your untemper'd morter,
His head did hinder, you could not rebell
To any purpose till he was cut shorter.
Nor could you Protestant Religion cast,
Or with such ease worke its confusion further,
Untill the tenth of January last,
You took an Arch-prop from it by foule murther.
That Function whereof the Apostles were,
Saint Peter and Saint James, and more of them,
Records Ecclesiasticall shewes cleare
Of Sees of Antioch, and Jerusalem.
And blest Saint Paul, made Bishops, (as 'twas meet)
The one young Timothy, the other Titus;
17
Who by their lives and Doctrines do enlight us,
And since for sixteen hundred yeares and more,
And Christian Churches, Kingdomes, Lands, and Climates
Have been instructed in God's Lawes and lore
By Reverend Bishops, Patriarchs, and Primates.
Therefore if men would note the aime and scope
Of these superbian haughty Independants,
Each one would in his Parish be a Pope
To whose pipes must the King and all his men dance.
Therefore beware, good countrimen beware,
Beware of them, and of a new Presbytery,
Beware their Leaven, have especiall care,
Let not their mad-brain'd Doctrine all besquitter yee.
They seem t'uphold the Protestants good Cause,
By murdering those of that Religion chiefe,
Bereaving all that Clergy, without Lawes,
Of life, goods, libertty, and all riliefe.
They feigne to purge Religion sound and sure,
By bloody Civill Warre, which will destroy it;
And they will keep it neat, sincere, and pure,
So noysome as may totally annoy it.
Blinde with rebellious or prepostrous zeale
You have possest men with most strange opinions,
That Churches ruine is the Churches weale;
And make the King great, (but without dominions)
He is your Soveraigne for your safe protection,
And you (like Subjects) will obey and serve him,
Yet you no service owe him, or subjection,
And do the worst you can to rob or sterve him.
Strife cannot be the ground of true Religion,
Your Sects, worse than the Alcaron, or Talmud,
(Like Mah'mets zeale from's jugling whispring Pigeon)
Not from the Scriptures Chrystall Fount but all mud.
What hath the Kirke of Scotland here to doe?
Must Englands Church to that be now subjected?
We are not conquer'd, or made slaves I troe;
Or so unlearn'd, by them to be directed.
Our Church with theirs doth neither meddle nor make,
Our Lawes to alter theirs do not intrude;
Why then do they presumptuous power thus take,
And censure us, as they had us subdude?
Must Oxford and her sister Cambridge both
Learne of Saint Andrews and of Aberdene?
They to be taught of us would both be loath,
Yet I am sure there is some ods between.
Let Englishmen remember what they are;
And call to minde, but what they erst have been,
And what they must be, if they not prepare,
To shun the mischiefes they are compass'd in,
You see that our Religion and our Law
Our foes would ruinate both root and branch,
And captivate us with a slavish awe,
Or with our blouds their bloudy thirst would staunch.
Upon the Crown, the Royall Paire and Race,
Upon the Peeres, the Clergy, Church, and Gentry,
Without respect of Person, Time, or Place,
To spoile all, they have made a sawcy entry.
Yet of that noble Northern Nation are
Thousands and thousands to their Soveraigne true,
And such as are not, Let consuming Warre
Confound 'em or the Hangman claime his due.
And now you Pulpiteers, and Pamphleterians,
I take my leave in you own friendly manner;
And you most high and mighty Westminsterians,
Who have (too long) displaid rebellions Banner,
For your blacke deeds, Heavens vengeance lies in store
For Bourchier, Yeomans, Tomkins, Challoner,
For Lords, Knights, Gentry, Commons, thousands more,
Whom you have murdered by intestine Warre.
The worme of conscience shall consume you lives,
Hell and damnation shall be your just hire.
Your children shall be miscreants, your wives
Begger'd, except Repentance swage God's ire,
Which that it may do, I most humbly pray,
And let our fervent prayers to Heaven ascend.
That you may turne, before the last of May.
That Englands miseries may have an—
END
| Works of John Taylor the Water Poet not included in the folio volume of 1630 | |