University of Virginia Library

THE BADGER In The FOX-TRAP,

OR A Satyr Upon Satyrs.

Comus nor Momus, now must be my Theam,
My Muse must Mourn in a more Serious strain.
Since I, who ne'r could write to humor men,
To humor Beasts, must now indulge my Pen.
One April Evening, I alone did lye,
In my Chamber Window, some three Stories high,
To view the prospect of the welcom Spring,
And hear Night's Choristers their Anthems sing.
But all those Chanting Quire soon were scar'd,
By a voice unhallowed, they and I both heard.
The more the Calm, the more the noise Increast,
Voice like a man, but call'd it self a Beast.
With Hems, and Haws, and Groans, did thus begin,
Did ever God Create so Vile a thing!
Internal and External Hoddy-doddy,
A perfect Monster both in Soul and Body.
Besides my Names and Titles are as numerous,
As all my Actions, various still, (and Humerous)
Some call me Tony, some Achitophel;
Some Jack a-dandy, some old Machiavil.
Some call me Devil, some his Foster-Brother,
And Turn-Coat Rebel all the Nation over.
And some compare me to a Sneaking Snail,
Who keeps its Shell in Storms of Wind and Hail.
Some call me Hydra with a hundred Heads,
And some a Monster, all of Matchless Legs;
Others the Scab, from whence the Infection Breeds.
Some call me Hedg-Hoge in a Prickly Skin,
And that a treble Fiend is wrapt within.
But a Badger now, caught by a Fatal Snap,
By th'longest Leg, within the Foxes Trap.
Which here was laid for some such Animal.
When e're I'm freed, I surely drop to Hell.
The more I Lug, the more the Spring doth bind me,
Nay one Tug more leaves all my Legs behind me.
My Limbs and Sinews, are so Feeble grown,
That were I loose I cannot stand alone.
Each Member doth each others grief bemoan.
Tho' I from God deserve this punishment,
Why should the Devil such a Friend torment,
Whom I have ever took for my Protector,
And for ten thousand Souls he is my Debtor.
Can he at last a Treacherous Guardian be,
As I to all, that ever Trusted me.
'Tis for his sake, that I'm Deform'd and Hist at,
As Wizards all their Life; like Rams-horns Twisted.
But poor Devil, now perhaps suspected me,
That I'd Recant to get my Liberty.
And therefore Hampers me in this Crampt Jail,
That I have scarce room to wag my poor old Tail;
Which I'l ne'r do, to gain three Kingdoms more,
Then my Ambition, hop'd to make me sure.
Who knows what Nick hath yet for me in store?
Poor Fiend on me, used to have tender Care,
And made me Eminent in Peace and War,
And yet I have Sense, Children and Fools to Scar:
By Teaching Ben and Franck to Write great Lies;
How mighty Monsters quarrel in the Skies.
Visions at Hatfield, either White or Green,
Far more Prodigious then the Fairy Queen.
To make them believe the Papists still are Plotting,
To Cut the Throats o'th' Saints whilst they are Napping.
And that they Burnt the City down about us,
As sure as I was ever stout or Honest.
And that they'l endeavour for to do't again,
To lay the Land in Universal Flame;
Tho' they themselves be stifled in the stream.
And how to make the Neighbours Hate each other,
And for Revenge to Murder one another;
And to make a King to Sell a Royal Brother;
And to make the great Ones like Pikes in a Pond,
To Devour the Smaller over all the Land.
These are but petty Symptoms of the Shams,
When my Familiar gave but single Drams.
But when for sickly State we do contrive,
Oh! Roger, Roger, Oh! my Dribling side
Come bring a Spoon, before I am quite Spent,
And from this Tap receive my Excrement.
Why Roger, Harry, Tom, Will, Martha—
Where's all the Rogues and Bitches, some of you come forth a---
The great Defluction of my Canker'd Spleen,
The Scum o'th' Poison will not stay within,
But Drains from th'Conclave of declining Parts,
And quite obstructeth my Etherick Arts;
Well, I keep Currs, But I am the Dog that Barks.
Then he himself unbuckled, and let fly
Venemous Extraction, till his Pump waxt dry.
Which he perceiving, tug'd and Pumpt the more,
Till all his Engines he in pieces tore,
Them like an Ass, the Badger he did Roar.
He Snarl'd, and Curst, and Swore he was undone,
Expos'd to the Scorn of every Mothers Son.
Having lost the Sluice which many years had stood,
And at his pleasure Drown'd the Land in Blood.
And tho' to's ruine it made the wider Gap,
He found himself the Faster in the Trap.
He Hal'd his Limbs, which had his Soul long hated,
But the Badger's Fast, and Fears he shall be Baited.
But am I now forsaken by my Friends,
Fools, nor Knaves, Servants, nor none Attends.
Hells Damn'd Fiends, break off those Slavish Chains,
Release your Friend, in these unpitied Pains.
Where's my Companions, o'th' same Imputation,
My Fellow Sharers in the Ruine o'th' Nation.
Where's my Cabals, and Mercenary Men,
Where's Silly Perkin, where's Franck, Dick and Ben;
Where's my Nursery, that Pist all in a Pen?
Where's all our Senat, with their lowd Debates,
Where's our Committes, those Imps, and Quaeks of States?
What no Redress?
Fiends, Furies, Goblins, Ushers of Black Shades,
Infernal Hell-Hounds, I Conjure your Aides.
Rise up and Tear my Tired Limbs asunder;
Let me like Faustus be a second Wonder.
Then one in Black came Limping with all Speed,
I thought the Devil had been come indeed;
So did the Badger, and on his Tail did Squat,
B.
Good Mr. Devil, do not take me yet.

D.
I am no Devil, but Chief Doctor in the Synod,
Who came from Sala--- in a Minuit:
Lets feel your Wounds, to Cure you I will try:

B.
Oh! Cursed R--- thou'rt as foul within as I.
What needst thou feel me Dog, thou wilt undo me,
My Victim's gone, a man may see quite through me.
I am past the help of Doctor, or of Devils,
Nothing but Death, can Cure these growing Evils.

D.

B.
Some of my Sins are Forty years of Age,
Must I bring those again upon the Stage?

D.
Yes those to choose, they are old, and now grown Hory,
Shake out the Bag, and make an end of th' Story.

B.
But how shall I begin this great Confession?
Which in my Soul doth make this deep Impression:

D.
Not like the Papists with a Bleer'd Contrition.
Speak boldly Sir, with Conscience like a Tanner,
Make every Sin a Trophy of your Honour.

B.
Why in Forty one, and two, and three, and Four,
I then began to Love a Handsom W---.

D.
Very good Sir, well and how much more?

B.
The rest are State-Affairs, not to be disclos'd,
And by Malignants, are too much suppos'd,
And so all that, may well be thus Excus'd;
I own I have, both Church and K. Abus'd.

D.
But you must Specifie each dubious Query,

B.
Nay then 'twill last from June till January.

D.
Well, we must follow Order, Course and Form,

B.
Plague Dam the Order, I such Custom Scorn:
It has been my Study, ever from my Cradle,
To break all Formal Order, far as I was able.
And must I now, to Save an Old Dam'd Soul,
Go disimbogue, each Cranny, Chink and Hole.

D.
The more you own, your Crime will be the Lesser,
Hear to your Reverend Father, and Confessor.

B.
Prophane Impostor, Reverend do'st thou say,
That hast been Perjur'd twenty times a day:
In Capital and Mortal Bloody Cases,
To Murther Innocents with thy Disgraces.

D.
'Twas to Oblige our Sworn Fraternities,
And to destroy the Causes, Subtil Enemies.

B.
Well Dr. now I find you are much Reform'd,
Since our Cabals have Falter'd and Dissolv'd.

D.
'Twas still my Nature to Sail with the Wind;
Come Scrape the Kettle, out with what's behind.

B.
Lord Father, you have such Influence o're me,
I wou'd speak all, but that you'l quite Abhor me.

D.
Oh! you Little Bashful, Old Arch Wag,
You know, I neither dare Divulge nor Brag.

B.

D.
Nay hold a while, your Crime's but now begin Sir,
These were but Vertues to your later Sins Sir:
You must rub up your Brains, and Face about,
We have the Plot Mistick, yet to Hammer out.

B.
God Dam your Reverency, let that go by,
You are as deep i'th dirt in that as I;

D.
Pox rot your Honour, that's a Plaguy Lie.
You have Confest, you were the Engeneer,
That Draw'd the Lines, which way the Plot would Bear;
That who shou'd keep the Front, and who the Rear.

B.
And had not your Impudence, still over-Acted,
Our Purpose long e're this, had been Perfected.

D.
'Zwounds 'twas for that, that I by you was chosen,
'Cause I could Out-face all the Truth in Heaven.

B.
But not to Snap the Council up like Peasants,
And call them Rascals in the Royal Presence.
Nor yet to call the Life-Guards Papish Traitors,
As if we were their Makers and Creators.
Nor to throw in Odium on them at their Inns,
When you saw our party Totter like Nine-pinns;
Too late to make the World esteem us Kings.
Nor to call Inn-keepers Rogues, for entertaining
The King's Life-Guards; those things divulg'd our meaning.
Nor to call your self the Saviour of the Nation;
As if there had been Oats from the Creation.

D.
'S death, Have you not acted worse than this?
You vex me so, I scarce have time to Piss.
You have these seven years, made it your study
To draw disgusted Parties to a Body.
You held Communion with Tub-preachers juggling,
And draw'd their Brethren altogether, smuggling
Their holy Sisters, with whom they Ingender,
And bring forth Brood that's light with th' same Tinder:
Who are bred up in Fears and Jealousies,
Wherewith you daily blind their pur-blind eyes.
And thus you draw the hearts of silly Subjects
From their own Sovereign, to be odious Objects:
For this Impression in their Infancy
Deprives them of the sence of Loyalty.
Thus you seduce the Land for future Ages,
To be a Den of Bruits; for wild out-rages;
Worse than wild Beasts, who still own some Supreme;
Both Infidels and Indians do the same.

B.
Had you this Doctrine from Salamancha,
Where you ne're were, I know well, Sir, I thank ye?
You need not instance these most biting twinges,
Since our Designs are all flung off the hinges.
You're ten times worse, were your faults sum'd together,
Tho' thou pretend'st to be my Ghostly Father;
For thou art neither Prot. 'Byter, nor Papist:
Best thou canst boast of is Inhumane Atheist.

D.
You cross old Cur, resolve me these few Questions,
And I'le importune for no more Confessions.
Who was the Cause of Scotland's late Rebellions?
Who promis'd to assist their Force with Millions?
Who was't draw'd Perkin from his Royal Father,
To he cajoll'd into the Peoples Favour?
Who was't contriv'd the Plotting of Petitions,
To gull the Nation into blind Seditions?
Who was't contriv'd Caballing in the City,
And to school Evidence chose a Committee?
Who first contriv'd to Peach both Peers and Judges,
And make them scrape before the Bar like drudges?
All those in Eminent Places, and great Favour,
Yet never could be brought in Guilty neither?
Who told the Commons that, 'gainst every Trial,
They must seclude all Members that were Loyal?
That none might ever pass for due Elected,
Unless approv'd on by the disaffected?
Who was it first that cursed Maxim mov'd,
That every Act for Money be reprov'd,
Unless Prerogative were squeez'd or shov'd?
Who was't contriv'd to have the Guards Indicted,
When we our selves the City-Guards united?
Who was it cry'd, No money for the King,
Till Kingly Powers into your hands we bring?
Who was it cry'd, The King must not be trusted
With his own Life, while we are thus disgusted?
And that the People they were still in danger
Of Native Papists, and of Popish Stranger;
Till th' Militia, Cinque-Ports, Navy and the rest,
Were all expos'd unto our Care and Trust?
Who was't that writ the Address for Shire,
As if all had been Subscribers that were there,
A voting for the Members, and had lear'd on't,
Tho' ten in all the number never heard on't?
Who was it first invented the Black Box,
And the Black Bills which were to give such knocks?
Who was made privy unto Godfrey's Death,
For which three men already lost their breath?
Who was't converted Law into a Cloak,
To shelter Knaves, and Innocents to choak?
Who was't that gave the Synod Approbations,
For to contrive Committees for vexations,
And made a Conventicle Synod for three Nations?
Who gave Advice to Libel Church and State,
And none must mind the meaning, till too late,
And the King's Friends made odious, out of date?
Who was't perswaded those turn'd out of Places
Of great Authority, to make strange faces;
And cry out Popery is now approaching;
Tho' they before conceived no such poaching?
Who was't gave out that a thousand Watermen
Had all conspir'd to Petition, when
The Parliament to Oxford were conven'd,
That they might sit at Westminster for them;
But ne're were heard of more from Smith nor Ben?
Who was't endeavour'd all that preparations,
To guard the City Members in their stations
To Oxford; which look'd far more Arbitrary
Than Forty One, or absolute Old Harry?
Who was the occasion of the late obstruction
Of the Addresses of the Cities Loyal Production;
Was't not the Canker of your Taps defluction?
Who school'd Fitz-Harris for two years together,
And tann'd his Conscience thick as Bullocks Leather;
And kept him for reserve to sweep the Court
Of King and Queen, and all that them support?
And now the Fool begins to stink for fear,
And is in danger quite as much as we are:
But makes such scruples to put by the Coller,
As if he meant to hang Sir W. W.
Who hath influenc'd all this Perjury,
Which hath out-fac'd both Law and Loyalty?
Who is't that holds the Plot still by the tail,
As Seamen tugg, to tack about their Sail;
And now by one small breeze of Justice breath,
Fear to be shipwreck'd to eternal Death?
Who animated the wild Votes of late,
To make themselves Comptrollers of the State;
And that their Votes, without concurrence, might
Impeach the Crown or Peers in spight of Right?
Who was't destroy'd both Monarchy and Law,
And would make it lawful by a second blow?
Who cry'd, These Visions and strange Revelations,
Tells us for Wars we must make preparations,
Whilst we know no danger but our own Damnations?
Who made the Speech burn'd by the Hangman's hand,
Which did both Threaten, and the King Command?
In short, Who was this Hellish Plot's Contriver?
Who was its Plaintiff-Engine; who its Driver?
If it was You, ingeniously confess't,
And I'le give you Absolution for the rest.

B.
Nay, Doctor, now I find you'l not abhor me,
For you your self makes my Confession for me.
Then nods and fleers, and at this motion grins;
These are but Title-pages of my Sins.

D.
Nay, for the rest we'le ne're stand to unhole,
They're only symptom-Insects in your soul,
Flaws of distinction between fair and foul.

B.
Well, since I find that all my hopes are past,
E're to shake off what I pull'd on so fast,
But that I, at worst, can hang my self at last.
Rather than live under this ill, true notion,
After your kind Advice and friendly Caution,
I must confess, tho' with a feign'd Devotion,
All these black Crimes which to my charge you lay,
And many a thousand, ten times worse than they.
Since I'm imperfect to perform the rest.
He whisper'd then, and I suppose confest;
Thus far degenerated from a Beast.

D.
And then the Doctor, with his bended Chin,
Canted some words, and so absolv'd his sin.
And swore by the Holy Doom of his best Trade,
Badger thou art a Papist now, as good as e're was made:
By this Canonick Salamancha Gown,
I give to thee my best Benediction.

B.