 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
258
A Satyr upon the French King.
VVrit after the Peace was concluded at Reswick, Anno 1697. by a Non-swearing Parson, and said to be drop'd out of his Pocket at Sam's Coffee-House.
And hast thou left old Jemmy in the Lurch!
A Plague confound the Doctors of thy Church:
Then to abandon poor Italian Molly;
That I'ad the firking of thy Bum with Holly.
Next to discard the virtuous Prince of Wales;
How sutes this with the Honour of Versailes?
Fourthly and lastly, to renounce the Turks;
Why this is the Devil, the Devil and all his Works.
Were I thy Confessor, who am thy Martyr,
Dost think that I'd allow thee any Quarter?
No—Thou shouldst find what 'tis to be a Starter.
Lord! with what monstrous Lies and sensless Shams
Have we been cullied all along at Sams?
Who could have e'er believ'd, unless in spite,
Lewis le Grand would turn rank Williamite?
Thou that hast look'd so fierce, and talk'd so big,
In thy old Age to dwindle to a Whig;
By Heaven, I see thou'rt in thy Heart a Prig.
I'd not not be for a Million in thy Jerkin,
'Fore George thy Soul's no bigger than a Gerkin.
Hast thou for this spent so much ready Rhino?
Now what the plague will become of Jure Divino?
A Change so monstrous I cou'd ne'er have thought,
Tho Partridg all his Stars to vouch it brought;
'S life I'll not take thy Honour for a Groat.
Even Oaths with thee are only things of Course,
Thou Z---, thou art a Monarch for a Horse.
Of Kings distress'd thou art a fine Securer,
Thou mak'st me swear, that am a known Non-Juror.
But tho I swear thus, as I said before,
Know, King, I'll place it all upon thy Score.
Were Job alive, and barter'd by such Shufflers,
He'd outrail Oates, and curse both thee and Boufflers.
For thee I've lost, if I can rightly scan 'em,
Two Livings worth full eightscore Pound per Annum,
Bonæ & legalis Angliæ Monetæ,
But now I'm clearly routed by the Treaty.
Then Geese and Pigs my Table ne'er did fail,
And Tithe-eggs merrily flew in like Hail,
My Barns with Corn, my Cellars cram'd with Ale.
The Dice are chang'd; for now, as I'm a Sinner,
The Devil, for me, knows where to buy a Dinner:
I might as soon, tho I were ne'er so willing,
Raise a whole Troop of Horse, as one poor Shilling.
My Spouse alas, must slant in Silks no more;
Pray Heaven, for Sustenance, she turn not Whore:
And Daughter Peggy too, in time, I fear,
Wiill learn to take a Stone up in her Ear.
My Friend have basely left me with my Place;
What's worse, my very Pimples bilk my Face:
And frankly my Condition to disclose,
I most resent th'Ingratitude of my Nose,
On which tho I have spent on Wine such store,
It now looks paler than my Tavern Score.
My double Chin's dismantled, and my Coat is
Past its best days in Verbo Sacerdotis.
My Breeches too this Morning, to my wonder,
I found grown Schismaticks, and fal'n asunder.
When first I came to Town with Houshold Clog,
Rings, Watch, and so forth, fairly went for Prog.
The antient Fathers next, in whom I boasted,
Were soon exchang'd for Primitive Boil'd and Roasted,
Since 'tis no Sin of Books to be a Glutton,
I truck'd St. Austin for a Leg of Mutton;
Old Jerom's Volumes next I made a Rape on,
And melted down that Father for a Capon.
When these were gone, my Bowels not to balk,
I trespass'd most enormously in Chalk;
But long I had not quarter'd upon tick,
E'er Christian Faith, I found, grew monstrous sick;
And now alas, when my starv'd Entrails croke,
At Partner How's I dine and sup on Smoke:
In fine, the Government may do its Will,
But I'm afraid my Guts will grumble still.
Dennis of Sicily, as Books relate, Sir,
When he was tumbl'd from the Regal State, Sir,
(Which by the by I hope will be your Fate, Sir)
And his good Subjects left him in the Lurch,
Turn'd Pedagogue, and tyranniz'd in Birch.
Tho thus the Spark was taken a Peg lower,
Some feeble Signs of his old State he bore,
And reign'd o'er Boys, that govern'd Men before.
For thee I wish some Punishment that worse is;
Since then thou'st spoil'd my Prayers, now hear my Curses.
A Plague confound the Doctors of thy Church:
Then to abandon poor Italian Molly;
That I'ad the firking of thy Bum with Holly.
Next to discard the virtuous Prince of Wales;
How sutes this with the Honour of Versailes?
Fourthly and lastly, to renounce the Turks;
Why this is the Devil, the Devil and all his Works.
Were I thy Confessor, who am thy Martyr,
Dost think that I'd allow thee any Quarter?
No—Thou shouldst find what 'tis to be a Starter.
Lord! with what monstrous Lies and sensless Shams
Have we been cullied all along at Sams?
Who could have e'er believ'd, unless in spite,
Lewis le Grand would turn rank Williamite?
Thou that hast look'd so fierce, and talk'd so big,
In thy old Age to dwindle to a Whig;
By Heaven, I see thou'rt in thy Heart a Prig.
I'd not not be for a Million in thy Jerkin,
'Fore George thy Soul's no bigger than a Gerkin.
Hast thou for this spent so much ready Rhino?
Now what the plague will become of Jure Divino?
A Change so monstrous I cou'd ne'er have thought,
Tho Partridg all his Stars to vouch it brought;
'S life I'll not take thy Honour for a Groat.
259
Thou Z---, thou art a Monarch for a Horse.
Of Kings distress'd thou art a fine Securer,
Thou mak'st me swear, that am a known Non-Juror.
But tho I swear thus, as I said before,
Know, King, I'll place it all upon thy Score.
Were Job alive, and barter'd by such Shufflers,
He'd outrail Oates, and curse both thee and Boufflers.
For thee I've lost, if I can rightly scan 'em,
Two Livings worth full eightscore Pound per Annum,
Bonæ & legalis Angliæ Monetæ,
But now I'm clearly routed by the Treaty.
Then Geese and Pigs my Table ne'er did fail,
And Tithe-eggs merrily flew in like Hail,
My Barns with Corn, my Cellars cram'd with Ale.
The Dice are chang'd; for now, as I'm a Sinner,
The Devil, for me, knows where to buy a Dinner:
I might as soon, tho I were ne'er so willing,
Raise a whole Troop of Horse, as one poor Shilling.
My Spouse alas, must slant in Silks no more;
Pray Heaven, for Sustenance, she turn not Whore:
And Daughter Peggy too, in time, I fear,
Wiill learn to take a Stone up in her Ear.
My Friend have basely left me with my Place;
What's worse, my very Pimples bilk my Face:
And frankly my Condition to disclose,
I most resent th'Ingratitude of my Nose,
On which tho I have spent on Wine such store,
It now looks paler than my Tavern Score.
My double Chin's dismantled, and my Coat is
Past its best days in Verbo Sacerdotis.
My Breeches too this Morning, to my wonder,
I found grown Schismaticks, and fal'n asunder.
When first I came to Town with Houshold Clog,
Rings, Watch, and so forth, fairly went for Prog.
The antient Fathers next, in whom I boasted,
Were soon exchang'd for Primitive Boil'd and Roasted,
260
I truck'd St. Austin for a Leg of Mutton;
Old Jerom's Volumes next I made a Rape on,
And melted down that Father for a Capon.
When these were gone, my Bowels not to balk,
I trespass'd most enormously in Chalk;
But long I had not quarter'd upon tick,
E'er Christian Faith, I found, grew monstrous sick;
And now alas, when my starv'd Entrails croke,
At Partner How's I dine and sup on Smoke:
In fine, the Government may do its Will,
But I'm afraid my Guts will grumble still.
Dennis of Sicily, as Books relate, Sir,
When he was tumbl'd from the Regal State, Sir,
(Which by the by I hope will be your Fate, Sir)
And his good Subjects left him in the Lurch,
Turn'd Pedagogue, and tyranniz'd in Birch.
Tho thus the Spark was taken a Peg lower,
Some feeble Signs of his old State he bore,
And reign'd o'er Boys, that govern'd Men before.
For thee I wish some Punishment that worse is;
Since then thou'st spoil'd my Prayers, now hear my Curses.
May thy Affairs (for so I wish by Heavens)
All the World o'er at Sixes lie and Sevens;
May Conti be impos'd on by the Primate,
And forc'd in hast to leave the Northern Climate;
May he rely upon their Faith and try it,
And have his Belly full of Polish Dyet;
May Maintenon, tho thou so long hast kept her,
With Brand-venereal singe thy Royal Scepter;
May all the Poets that thy Fame have scatter'd,
Un-god thee now, and damn what once they flatter'd;
The Pope and thou be never Cater-Cousins,
And Fistula's thy Arse-hole seize by Dozens.
All the World o'er at Sixes lie and Sevens;
May Conti be impos'd on by the Primate,
And forc'd in hast to leave the Northern Climate;
May he rely upon their Faith and try it,
And have his Belly full of Polish Dyet;
May Maintenon, tho thou so long hast kept her,
With Brand-venereal singe thy Royal Scepter;
May all the Poets that thy Fame have scatter'd,
Un-god thee now, and damn what once they flatter'd;
The Pope and thou be never Cater-Cousins,
And Fistula's thy Arse-hole seize by Dozens.
Thus far in Jest; but now to pin the Basket,
May'st thou to England come, of Jove I ask it,
Thy wretched Fortune, Lewis there to prop,
I hope thou'lt in the Fryars take a Shop;
Turn puny Barber there, bleed louzy Carmen,
Cut Corns for Chimny-sweepers and such Vermin;
Be forc'd to trim (for such I'm sure thy Fate is)
Thy own poor Hugonots, and us Non-Jurors gratis.
May Savoy likewise with thee hither pack,
And carry a Raree-show upon his back.
May all this happen, as I've put my Pen to't,
And may all Christian People say Amen to't.
May'st thou to England come, of Jove I ask it,
261
I hope thou'lt in the Fryars take a Shop;
Turn puny Barber there, bleed louzy Carmen,
Cut Corns for Chimny-sweepers and such Vermin;
Be forc'd to trim (for such I'm sure thy Fate is)
Thy own poor Hugonots, and us Non-Jurors gratis.
May Savoy likewise with thee hither pack,
And carry a Raree-show upon his back.
May all this happen, as I've put my Pen to't,
And may all Christian People say Amen to't.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |