 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
The last Will and Testament of Anthony K. of Poland.
My Tap is run; then Baxter, tell me why
Shou'd not the good, the great Potapsky die?
Grim Death, who lays us all upon our Backs,
Instead of Scythe doth now advance his Ax;
And I who all my Life in Broils hath spent,
Intend at last to make a Settlement.
Shou'd not the good, the great Potapsky die?
Grim Death, who lays us all upon our Backs,
Instead of Scythe doth now advance his Ax;
And I who all my Life in Broils hath spent,
Intend at last to make a Settlement.
Imprimis for my Soul (tho I had thought,
To 've left that thing I never minded out)
Some do advise for fear of doing wrong,
To give it him to whom it doth belong.
But I, who all Mankind have cheated, now
Intend likewise to cheat the Devil too:
Therefore I leave my Soul unto my Son,
For he, as wise Men think, as yet has none.
To 've left that thing I never minded out)
Some do advise for fear of doing wrong,
To give it him to whom it doth belong.
But I, who all Mankind have cheated, now
Intend likewise to cheat the Devil too:
Therefore I leave my Soul unto my Son,
For he, as wise Men think, as yet has none.
Then for my Polish Crown, that pretty thing,
Let M---mouth take't, who longs to be a King;
His empty Head soft Nature did design
For such a Light and Airy Crown as mine.
Let M---mouth take't, who longs to be a King;
His empty Head soft Nature did design
For such a Light and Airy Crown as mine.
120
With my Estate I'll tell you how it stands,
Jack Ketch must have my Clothes, the King my Lands.
Jack Ketch must have my Clothes, the King my Lands.
Item, I leave the damn'd Association
To all the wise disturbers of the Nation;
Not that I think they'l gain their ends thereby,
But that they may be hang'd as well as I.
To all the wise disturbers of the Nation;
Not that I think they'l gain their ends thereby,
But that they may be hang'd as well as I.
A---ng, in Murders, and in Whorings skill'd,
Who twenty Bastards gets for one Man kill'd,
To thee I do bequeath my Brace of Whores,
Long kept to draw the Humours from my Sores;
For you they'l serve as well as Silver Tap,
For Women give and sometimes cure a Clap.
Who twenty Bastards gets for one Man kill'd,
To thee I do bequeath my Brace of Whores,
Long kept to draw the Humours from my Sores;
For you they'l serve as well as Silver Tap,
For Women give and sometimes cure a Clap.
H---rd, my Partner in Captivity,
False to thy God and King, but true to me;
To thee some heinous Legacy I'd give,
But that I think thou hast not long to live:
Besides, thou'st wickedness enough in store
To serve thy self, and twenty Thousand more.
False to thy God and King, but true to me;
To thee some heinous Legacy I'd give,
But that I think thou hast not long to live:
Besides, thou'st wickedness enough in store
To serve thy self, and twenty Thousand more.
To thee, young G---y, I'll some small Toy present,
For you with any thing can be content;
Then take the Knife with which I cut my Corns,
'Twill serve to pare, and sharp your Lordship's Horns,
That you may rampant M---mouth push, and gore,
'Till he shall leave your House, and change his Whore.
For you with any thing can be content;
Then take the Knife with which I cut my Corns,
'Twill serve to pare, and sharp your Lordship's Horns,
That you may rampant M---mouth push, and gore,
'Till he shall leave your House, and change his Whore.
On top of Monument let my Head stand
It self a Monument, where first began
The Flame that has endanger'd all the Land.
It self a Monument, where first began
The Flame that has endanger'd all the Land.
But first to Titus let my Ears be thrown,
For he 'tis thought will shortly lose his own.
For he 'tis thought will shortly lose his own.
I leave old Baxter my invenom'd Teeth,
To bite and poyson all the Bishops with.
To bite and poyson all the Bishops with.
Item. I leave my Tongue to wise Lord N---th,
To help him bring his what-de-call-ums forth;
'Twill make his Lordship utter Treason clear,
And he in time may speak like Noble Peer.
To help him bring his what-de-call-ums forth;
'Twill make his Lordship utter Treason clear,
And he in time may speak like Noble Peer.
My squinting Eyes let Ignoramus wear,
That they may this way look, and that way swear.
That they may this way look, and that way swear.
121
Let the Cits take my Nose, because 'tis said,
That by the Nose I them have always led;
But for their Wives I nothing now can spare,
For all my Life time they have had their share.
That by the Nose I them have always led;
But for their Wives I nothing now can spare,
For all my Life time they have had their share.
Let not my Quarters stand on City Gate,
Lest they new Sects and Factions do create;
For certainly the Presbyterian Wenches,
In Dirt will fall to idolize my Haunches:
But that I may to my old Friend be Civil,
Let some Witch make them Mummy for the Devil.
Lest they new Sects and Factions do create;
For certainly the Presbyterian Wenches,
In Dirt will fall to idolize my Haunches:
But that I may to my old Friend be Civil,
Let some Witch make them Mummy for the Devil.
To good K. Charles I leave (tho faith 'tis pity)
A poison'd Nation, and deluded City;
Seditions, Clamours, Murmurs, Jealousies,
False Oaths, sham Stories, and religious Lies.
There's one thing still which I had quite forgot,
To him I leave the Carcase of my Plot;
In a Consumption the poor thing doth lie,
And when I'm gone 'twill pine away, and die.
A poison'd Nation, and deluded City;
Seditions, Clamours, Murmurs, Jealousies,
False Oaths, sham Stories, and religious Lies.
There's one thing still which I had quite forgot,
To him I leave the Carcase of my Plot;
In a Consumption the poor thing doth lie,
And when I'm gone 'twill pine away, and die.
Let Jenkins in a Tub my Worth declare,
And let my Life be writ by Harry Care.
And let my Life be writ by Harry Care.
And if my Bowels in the Earth find room,
Then let these Lines be writ upon their Tomb.
Then let these Lines be writ upon their Tomb.
Epitaph upon his Bowels.
Ye Mortal Whigs, for Death prepare,For mighty Tapskies Guts lie here.
Will his great Name keep sweet d'ye think?
For certainly his Entrails stink.
Alas! 'tis but a foolish Pride
To outsin all Mankind beside,
When such Illustrious Garbage must
Be mingled with the common Dust.
False Nature! that could thus delude
The Cheater of the Multitude,
That put his Thoughts upon the wing,
And egg'd him on to be a King;
122
His Noble great and little Guts.
Tapskie, who was a Man of Wit,
Had Guts for other uses fit;
Tho Fiddle-strings they might not be.
(Because he hated Harmony)
Yee for black Puddings they were good,
Their Master did delight in Blood;
Of this they should have drank their fill,
(King Cyrus did not fare so ill)
Poor Guts, could this have been your hap,
Sh. Bethel might have got a Snap:
But now at York his Guts must rumble,
Since you into a hole did tumble.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |