 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
Vox & Lachrymæ Anglorum.
Or, The true English-man's Complaint, humbly offer'd to the serious Consideration of their Representatives in Parliament at their next sitting in the Year 1667.
To the Parliament.
These Lines had kiss'd your Hands October last,
But were suspended till the time was past;
Because we hop'd you were about to do
That which this just Complaint excites you to.
It is our Duty to put you in mind
Of that great Work which yet does lag behind.
Our Griefs and Woes compel us loud to cry,
And call on you for speedy Remedy.
This was the moving Cause of these our Tears,
That you might know our Suff'rings and our Fears.
And Providence now having led the Way
To give it Birth, peruse it well we pray,
And do not take it for an old Wives Story:
Behold the Nations Grievances before ye
In these short Hints; yet here, as in a Map,
With ease you'll see the Cause of our Mishap.
But were suspended till the time was past;
Because we hop'd you were about to do
That which this just Complaint excites you to.
It is our Duty to put you in mind
Of that great Work which yet does lag behind.
34
And call on you for speedy Remedy.
This was the moving Cause of these our Tears,
That you might know our Suff'rings and our Fears.
And Providence now having led the Way
To give it Birth, peruse it well we pray,
And do not take it for an old Wives Story:
Behold the Nations Grievances before ye
In these short Hints; yet here, as in a Map,
With ease you'll see the Cause of our Mishap.
There's not a free-born English Protestant
But sets both Hand and Heart to this Complaint.
But sets both Hand and Heart to this Complaint.
Vox & Lachrymæ Anglorum.
O patriots renown'd, open your Eyes,
And lend an Ear to the Justice of our Cries;
As you are Englishmen, our Blood and Bones,
Know 'tis your Duty to regard our Groans:
On you, next God, our Confidence relies,
You are the Bulwarks of our Liberties.
Within your Walls was voted in our King,
For Joy whereof our Shouts made England ring;
And to make him a great and glorious Prince,
Both you and we have been at great Expence.
Full five and twenty hundred thousand Pound,
By you enacted, since has been paid down.
Our Customs to a vast Revenue come,
Our Fishing-mony no inferiour Sum.
The old Ale-spoiling Tax of the Excise
Does yearly to a Mass of Mony rise;
Besides the Additional of the Royal Aid,
And Chimny-Mony, which is yearly paid.
Oft have our Heads by Polls been sadly shorn,
And from poor Servants Wages Mony's torn:
Our Dunkirk yielded many a thousand Pound,
('Tis easier far to fell than gain a Town)
With forc'd Benevolence, and other things,
Enough t'enrich a dozen Danish Kings.
Million on Million on the Nation's back:
Yet we and all our Freedoms go to rack.
We hop'd when first these heavy Taxes rose,
Some shou'd be us'd to scare away our Foes,
Or beat them, till, like Gibeonites, they bring
Their Grandees ready halter'd to our King;
Or make them buckle, and their Points untruss,
As they who took for Motto, God with us.
But O! instead of this, our cruel Fate
Has made us like a Widow desolate.
Our Houses sadly burnt about our Ears,
Our Wives and Children sensless made with Fears.
Our Wares, like Ships, in which our Safety lay,
Unto our daring Foes are made a prey:
Our Forts and Castles, which shou'd guard our Land,
Just like old Nunneries and Abbies stand.
And long before our inland Towns demur'd,
That Sea and Land alike might be secur'd.
Our Magazines which did abound with Store,
Like us, sad Englishmen, are very poor.
Our Trade is lost, our Markets are undone;
Yeomen and Farmers all to ruin run:
Those that our fatal Battels fought neglected,
And swearing damme cowardly Rogues protected.
Our gallant Seamen, once the whole World's Dread,
For want of Pay are metamorphosed:
While the sad Widows, and poor Orphans weep,
Whose dear Relations perish'd in the Deep;
And to augment and aggravate their Grief,
At the Pay-Office find but cold Relief:
Many a Month are forc'd to wait and stay
To seek the Price of Blood, dead Husbands Pay.
The sober People who our Trade advanc'd,
Throughout our Nation are discountenanc'd.
It grieves our Hearts, that we shou'd live to see
True Virtue punish'd, and foul Vice go free.
Thousands alas! that would not hurt a Worm,
Imprison'd are, 'cause they could not conform.
Others exil'd, and from Relations sent,
We know not why, but that they're innocent.
While Rome's Black Locusts menace us with Storms,
Like Egypt's Frogs about our Land in Swarms.
Our Penal Laws are never executed
Against those Vermin, which our Land polluted.
Only to blind and hoodwink us, alas!
An Edict passes to prohibit Mass:
With such a Latitude, as most Men say,
'Tis like its Sire, the Oath Et cætera.
And lend an Ear to the Justice of our Cries;
As you are Englishmen, our Blood and Bones,
Know 'tis your Duty to regard our Groans:
On you, next God, our Confidence relies,
You are the Bulwarks of our Liberties.
Within your Walls was voted in our King,
For Joy whereof our Shouts made England ring;
And to make him a great and glorious Prince,
Both you and we have been at great Expence.
Full five and twenty hundred thousand Pound,
By you enacted, since has been paid down.
Our Customs to a vast Revenue come,
Our Fishing-mony no inferiour Sum.
The old Ale-spoiling Tax of the Excise
Does yearly to a Mass of Mony rise;
Besides the Additional of the Royal Aid,
And Chimny-Mony, which is yearly paid.
Oft have our Heads by Polls been sadly shorn,
And from poor Servants Wages Mony's torn:
Our Dunkirk yielded many a thousand Pound,
('Tis easier far to fell than gain a Town)
35
Enough t'enrich a dozen Danish Kings.
Million on Million on the Nation's back:
Yet we and all our Freedoms go to rack.
We hop'd when first these heavy Taxes rose,
Some shou'd be us'd to scare away our Foes,
Or beat them, till, like Gibeonites, they bring
Their Grandees ready halter'd to our King;
Or make them buckle, and their Points untruss,
As they who took for Motto, God with us.
But O! instead of this, our cruel Fate
Has made us like a Widow desolate.
Our Houses sadly burnt about our Ears,
Our Wives and Children sensless made with Fears.
Our Wares, like Ships, in which our Safety lay,
Unto our daring Foes are made a prey:
Our Forts and Castles, which shou'd guard our Land,
Just like old Nunneries and Abbies stand.
And long before our inland Towns demur'd,
That Sea and Land alike might be secur'd.
Our Magazines which did abound with Store,
Like us, sad Englishmen, are very poor.
Our Trade is lost, our Markets are undone;
Yeomen and Farmers all to ruin run:
Those that our fatal Battels fought neglected,
And swearing damme cowardly Rogues protected.
Our gallant Seamen, once the whole World's Dread,
For want of Pay are metamorphosed:
While the sad Widows, and poor Orphans weep,
Whose dear Relations perish'd in the Deep;
And to augment and aggravate their Grief,
At the Pay-Office find but cold Relief:
Many a Month are forc'd to wait and stay
To seek the Price of Blood, dead Husbands Pay.
The sober People who our Trade advanc'd,
Throughout our Nation are discountenanc'd.
It grieves our Hearts, that we shou'd live to see
True Virtue punish'd, and foul Vice go free.
36
Imprison'd are, 'cause they could not conform.
Others exil'd, and from Relations sent,
We know not why, but that they're innocent.
While Rome's Black Locusts menace us with Storms,
Like Egypt's Frogs about our Land in Swarms.
Our Penal Laws are never executed
Against those Vermin, which our Land polluted.
Only to blind and hoodwink us, alas!
An Edict passes to prohibit Mass:
With such a Latitude, as most Men say,
'Tis like its Sire, the Oath Et cætera.
But prais'd be God for Peace! that's very clear;
But on what Terms, th'Event will make appear.
We dread lest it should prove more to our Cost,
Than when Amboyna's Spicery was lost.
They treat with Rod in hand our Buttocks bare,
Judg what the Issues of such Treaties are.
But on what Terms, th'Event will make appear.
We dread lest it should prove more to our Cost,
Than when Amboyna's Spicery was lost.
They treat with Rod in hand our Buttocks bare,
Judg what the Issues of such Treaties are.
Thus sick, ye Worthies, sick our Nation lies,
And none but God can cure her Maladies.
Those that shou'd chear her in your Interval,
Like dull Quacksalvers, make her Spirits fail.
Turn she her wither'd Face to whom she will,
All that she get's is but a purging Pill.
If any of her Children for her cry,
Her cruel Empiricks use Phlebotomy:
That wholesom Physick that should cleanse her Blood,
They do detain, inflaming what is good.
This for a long time has bad Humours bred;
Which send up filthy Vapours to the Head.
All wise Men judg, if these Extremes endure,
They'll issue in a mad-brain'd Calenture.
Then O ye Worthies! now for Heaven's sake,
Some Pity on your gasping Country take.
Call to account those Leeches of the State,
Who from their Trust deeply prevaricate:
Who have of English Coin exhausted more
Than would ten Cœur de Lions home restore:
Who like perfidious and deceitful Elves,
Ruin the Nation to enrich themselves:
More ready are our Counsels to disclose,
Than to protect us from our Belgian Foes.
The Fleet divided shews such Treachery,
That Pagans, Turks and Infidels decry.
The States Purse cannot but be indigent,
When so much Mony over-Sea is sent.
No wonder Dutchmen cry, Thank Clarend—
That we're so roundly paid with English Coin.
If George's Mouth be stopt, think they that we
Have all our Eyes bor'd out, and cannot see.
Our Foes of English Coin have greater Store,
Since War's begun, than e'er they had before.
Quaint-Stratagem! for Rulers busy'd be,
To tie a raw Hyde to an Orange tree;
With Resolution, cause he's of that Blood,
That lifts his Head above the Mogenhood.
Then both the Keipe-Skins would be well bestow'd,
One honour'd here, t'other as much abroad.
And none but God can cure her Maladies.
Those that shou'd chear her in your Interval,
Like dull Quacksalvers, make her Spirits fail.
Turn she her wither'd Face to whom she will,
All that she get's is but a purging Pill.
If any of her Children for her cry,
Her cruel Empiricks use Phlebotomy:
That wholesom Physick that should cleanse her Blood,
They do detain, inflaming what is good.
This for a long time has bad Humours bred;
Which send up filthy Vapours to the Head.
All wise Men judg, if these Extremes endure,
They'll issue in a mad-brain'd Calenture.
Then O ye Worthies! now for Heaven's sake,
Some Pity on your gasping Country take.
Call to account those Leeches of the State,
Who from their Trust deeply prevaricate:
Who have of English Coin exhausted more
Than would ten Cœur de Lions home restore:
37
Ruin the Nation to enrich themselves:
More ready are our Counsels to disclose,
Than to protect us from our Belgian Foes.
The Fleet divided shews such Treachery,
That Pagans, Turks and Infidels decry.
The States Purse cannot but be indigent,
When so much Mony over-Sea is sent.
No wonder Dutchmen cry, Thank Clarend—
That we're so roundly paid with English Coin.
If George's Mouth be stopt, think they that we
Have all our Eyes bor'd out, and cannot see.
Our Foes of English Coin have greater Store,
Since War's begun, than e'er they had before.
Quaint-Stratagem! for Rulers busy'd be,
To tie a raw Hyde to an Orange tree;
With Resolution, cause he's of that Blood,
That lifts his Head above the Mogenhood.
Then both the Keipe-Skins would be well bestow'd,
One honour'd here, t'other as much abroad.
These and like Projects have procur'd a War,
Where Mortals worry'd were like Dog and Bear.
Then Mony works the Wonder, that is sure,
The Price of Dunkirk here may much procure.
Dunkirk was sold, but why we do not know,
Unless t'erect a new Seraglio:
Or be a Receptacle unto those,
Were once intended our invading Foes.
Then let that treacherous abject Lump of Pride,
With all his joint Confederates beside,
Be brought to Justice, try'd by our good Laws,
And so receive the Merits of their Cause;
Who justly now are made the People's Hate,
That would not do them Justice in the Gate.
Where Mortals worry'd were like Dog and Bear.
Then Mony works the Wonder, that is sure,
The Price of Dunkirk here may much procure.
Dunkirk was sold, but why we do not know,
Unless t'erect a new Seraglio:
Or be a Receptacle unto those,
Were once intended our invading Foes.
Then let that treacherous abject Lump of Pride,
With all his joint Confederates beside,
Be brought to Justice, try'd by our good Laws,
And so receive the Merits of their Cause;
Who justly now are made the People's Hate,
That would not do them Justice in the Gate.
We pray your Honours chuse out a Committee,
To find the Instruments that burnt our City:
Can one poor sensless Frenchman's Life repair
The Loss of Britain's great Imperial Chair?
Many there were in that vile Fact detected,
And those that should them punish, them protected.
When Nero did the like on famous Rome,
Were all her Senators and People dumb?
Must we be silent, when encompass'd round
With black-mouth'd Dogs, that would us all confound?
Most hellish Plot! 'Twas Guido Faux in grain,
Hatch'd by the Jesuits in France and Spain:
For which your Honours wisely did remember
To keep another Fifth Day of November.
When these Delinquents up and down the Nation
You sifted for, then came your Prorogation.
Mean while tho London in her Ashes lies,
Yet out of her shall such a Phœnix rise,
Shall be a Scourge and Terror unto those,
Who for this hundred Years have been her Foes.
Perfidious Papists! Shall your Treachery,
Think ye, reduce us to Idolatry?
Blood-thirsty Monsters! we know better things,
Not all the pride of your black-Lanthorn Kings;
Nor all your Counsels of Achitophel,
Shall make us run your ready Road to Hell.
Blind Blockheads! we abhor your rotten Whore,
None but the God of Jacob we adore.
To find the Instruments that burnt our City:
Can one poor sensless Frenchman's Life repair
The Loss of Britain's great Imperial Chair?
38
And those that should them punish, them protected.
When Nero did the like on famous Rome,
Were all her Senators and People dumb?
Must we be silent, when encompass'd round
With black-mouth'd Dogs, that would us all confound?
Most hellish Plot! 'Twas Guido Faux in grain,
Hatch'd by the Jesuits in France and Spain:
For which your Honours wisely did remember
To keep another Fifth Day of November.
When these Delinquents up and down the Nation
You sifted for, then came your Prorogation.
Mean while tho London in her Ashes lies,
Yet out of her shall such a Phœnix rise,
Shall be a Scourge and Terror unto those,
Who for this hundred Years have been her Foes.
Perfidious Papists! Shall your Treachery,
Think ye, reduce us to Idolatry?
Blood-thirsty Monsters! we know better things,
Not all the pride of your black-Lanthorn Kings;
Nor all your Counsels of Achitophel,
Shall make us run your ready Road to Hell.
Blind Blockheads! we abhor your rotten Whore,
None but the God of Jacob we adore.
We beg your Honours to redeem our Trade,
Which in your Intervals is much decay'd:
Regaining that, we hope such Fruit 'twill yield,
We on our Ruins chearfully may build.
We pray, repeal the Laws unnatural,
That Men in question for their Conscience call:
'Tis Cruelty for you to force Men to
The thing, that they had rather die than do.
This is Man's All; 'tis Christ's Prerogative,
Therefore against it 'tis in vain to strive.
Distribute Justice with an equal Hand,
Both to the Peer and Peasant of the Land.
Many true Commoner murder'd of late,
Yet Justice strikes not the Assassinate.
Why should the rightful Cause of Clients be
Utterly lost, for want of double Fee?
Why partial Judges on the Benches sit?
Why Juries overaw'd? This is not fit.
Why some corrupted, others wanting Wit?
And why a Parliament should suffer it?
Why great mens Will should be their only Law?
And why they do not call to mind Jack Straw?
Why they do let their Reputation rot?
And why Carnarvan Edward is forgot?
Why Bloodworth would not let the dreadful Fire
Extinguish'd be, as good Men did desire?
And why Life-Guardmen at each Gate were set,
Hindring the People thence their Goods to get?
Why were our Houses level'd with the Ground,
That fairly stood about the Tow'r round?
When many thousand Families were left
Without a House, then we must be bereft
Of Habitations too, with all the rest,
And share with those that greatly were distress'd.
Why should our Mother-Queen exhaust our Store,
Enriching France, and making England poor?
Spending our Treasure in a Foreign Land,
Can never with the Nation's Int'rest stand.
Then timely stop the bleeding of this Vein,
Lest it the Kingdom's vital Spirits drain.
Why England now, as in the days of yore,
Must have an Intercessor, Madam Shore?
Why upon her is spent more in one Day,
Than would some Weeks the Publick Charge defray?
Why second Rosamond is made away?
A thing remains unriddled to this Day.
Why Papists put in Places of great Trust,
And Protestants lay by their Arms to rust?
Why Courtiers rant with Goods of other Men,
And why Protections cheat the Citizen?
Why drunken Justices are tolerated?
And why the Gospel's almost abrogated?
Why Clergymen do domineer so high,
Who should be Patterns of Humility?
Why they do Steeple upon Steeple set,
As if they meant that way to Heav'n to get?
Who nothing have to prove themselves devout,
Save only this, That Cromwel turn'd them out.
Why Tippets, Copes, Lawn-sleeves, and such-like Geer,
Consume above three Millions by the Year?
Why Bell and Dragon Drones, like Boar in Sty,
Eat more than all the painful Ministry?
Which is one Cause the Nation is so poor:
But when will Charles find out their Privy-door?
When Daniel shews th'Impression of their Feet,
And gives direction, then he'll come to see't.
Why England's Grand Religion now should be
A stalking Horse to blind Idolatry?
Why many thousands now bow down before it,
That in their Consciences do much abhor it?
Why Treachery is us'd by Complication?
Deceit and Fraud, why th'A-la-mode in fashion?
Why ranting Cowards in Buff-coats are put,
And why they Robbers turn to fill their Gut?
Why Fools in Corporations do command,
Who know nor Justice, nor the Laws o'th' Land?
Why he that brought our Necks into this Yoke,
Dreads not the thoughts of Felton's fatal Stroke?
Sure they're bewitch'd to think we Englishmen
Have no more Courage left us than a Hen.
And why that Int'rest is become the least,
In the Year Sixty greater than the rest?
We know no reason, but do all consent,
These are the Fruits of an ill Government.
Some think our Judgments do run parallel
With David's in the Days of Israel:
The difference is, he was a Man of God;
But ours have been his sore afflicting Rod,
To which we turn our naked Backs, and say,
During thy pleasure, Lord, Vive le Roy.
We pray, restore our faithful Ministers,
Whom we do own as Christ's Embassadors.
Why are our Pulpits pester'd with a Crew,
That took up Orders since black Barthol'mew?
Who Myst'ries of the Gospel know no more,
Than the dumb Calf that Israel did adore.
Too late for us to you to make our moan,
When they have led us to destruction.
Must all be Enemies of King and State,
That from the Church of England separate?
Must all the Meetings of the Innocent
Be judg'd unlawful? they to Prison sent?
'Twere better all such Edicts you made void,
And grant the Liberty they once enjoy'd;
Confirming that unto 'em by a Law,
Makes good the Royal Promise at Breda.
Tread all Monopolies into the Earth,
And make provision that no more get birth.
In this a Prince's Danger chiefly lies,
That he is forc'd to see with others Eyes.
From hence our Troubles rose in Forty One,
When that Domestick War at first began.
Relieve th'Oppress'd, and set all Pris'ners free,
Who for their Consciences in durance be.
Poor Debtors, who have not wherewith to pay,
Break off their Shackles, let them go their way.
Let no suborn'd false Witnesses appear
In Courts, against the Innocent to swear:
Let no more Juries, that are biassed,
Be pack'd to do whatever they are bid:
Who to fulfil mens Lust and Cruelty,
Have no regard altho the Guiltless die.
Why should our righteous Laws like Cobwebs be,
To catch small Flies, and let the great go free?
This turns true Judgment into Wormwood-gall,
Does for the Vengeance of th'Avenger call;
Then ease those Burdens under which we groan,
Give Liberty its Resurrection.
Let painful Husbandry, that Child of Peace,
Be now encourag'd since our Wars do cease.
Let not the poor and inslav'd Peasant crave
Redress from you, and yet no Succour have.
'Tis too much like a base French Stratagem,
To make the People poor to govern them:
More happy for a Prince, when Aid he craves,
To have't from free-born Men, than injur'd Slaves.
We are free-born, we yet are English Men:
Let's not, like old Men, boast what we have been;
But make us happy by your gentle Rays,
And you shall be the Tenour of our Praise:
And our Posterity, with joint Consent,
Shall call you England's Healing Parliament.
But if you still will make our Bonds the stronger,
If Pris'ners must remain in Durance longer;
If wand'ring Stars must still by Force detrude,
Under Eclipse, those of first Magnitude;
If Prelates still must o'er our Conscience ride,
And Papists Bonfires make of us beside:
If he and they, whose Avarice and Pride
So long have rid our Backs, and gaul'd our Side;
Have got so strong an Int'rest in the State,
That their Commitment costs so long Debate,
Till means be found to further their Escape
To Foreign Parts, there to negotiate;
The Edg of Justice surely's turn'd aside,
To cut the poor Man's Flesh, and save the Hyde.
If you mens Lusts and Avarice gratify,
And yet our empty'd Purse-strings do unty;
You are too free of what was ne'er your own,
And now you only make us more to groan,
Ass-like: and surely any mortal Man
Will seek to ease his Burden if he can.
There's not an Englishman but well has learn'd,
Your Privileges are alike concern'd
With all our Liberties; that he who doth
Infringe the one, usurps upon 'em both.
And shall it on your Doors and Tombs be writ,
This was the Parliament so long did sit;
While Conscience, Liberty, our Purse and Trade,
The Country, City, Ships, and all's betray'd?
To make an Act for building on the Urn,
But no Inquest who did the City burn:
To feed a Palmer-worm, who threw away
The Publick Stock, which Seamen should defray.
Which in your Intervals is much decay'd:
Regaining that, we hope such Fruit 'twill yield,
We on our Ruins chearfully may build.
We pray, repeal the Laws unnatural,
That Men in question for their Conscience call:
'Tis Cruelty for you to force Men to
The thing, that they had rather die than do.
This is Man's All; 'tis Christ's Prerogative,
Therefore against it 'tis in vain to strive.
Distribute Justice with an equal Hand,
Both to the Peer and Peasant of the Land.
39
Yet Justice strikes not the Assassinate.
Why should the rightful Cause of Clients be
Utterly lost, for want of double Fee?
Why partial Judges on the Benches sit?
Why Juries overaw'd? This is not fit.
Why some corrupted, others wanting Wit?
And why a Parliament should suffer it?
Why great mens Will should be their only Law?
And why they do not call to mind Jack Straw?
Why they do let their Reputation rot?
And why Carnarvan Edward is forgot?
Why Bloodworth would not let the dreadful Fire
Extinguish'd be, as good Men did desire?
And why Life-Guardmen at each Gate were set,
Hindring the People thence their Goods to get?
Why were our Houses level'd with the Ground,
That fairly stood about the Tow'r round?
When many thousand Families were left
Without a House, then we must be bereft
Of Habitations too, with all the rest,
And share with those that greatly were distress'd.
Why should our Mother-Queen exhaust our Store,
Enriching France, and making England poor?
Spending our Treasure in a Foreign Land,
Can never with the Nation's Int'rest stand.
Then timely stop the bleeding of this Vein,
Lest it the Kingdom's vital Spirits drain.
Why England now, as in the days of yore,
Must have an Intercessor, Madam Shore?
Why upon her is spent more in one Day,
Than would some Weeks the Publick Charge defray?
Why second Rosamond is made away?
A thing remains unriddled to this Day.
Why Papists put in Places of great Trust,
And Protestants lay by their Arms to rust?
Why Courtiers rant with Goods of other Men,
And why Protections cheat the Citizen?
40
And why the Gospel's almost abrogated?
Why Clergymen do domineer so high,
Who should be Patterns of Humility?
Why they do Steeple upon Steeple set,
As if they meant that way to Heav'n to get?
Who nothing have to prove themselves devout,
Save only this, That Cromwel turn'd them out.
Why Tippets, Copes, Lawn-sleeves, and such-like Geer,
Consume above three Millions by the Year?
Why Bell and Dragon Drones, like Boar in Sty,
Eat more than all the painful Ministry?
Which is one Cause the Nation is so poor:
But when will Charles find out their Privy-door?
When Daniel shews th'Impression of their Feet,
And gives direction, then he'll come to see't.
Why England's Grand Religion now should be
A stalking Horse to blind Idolatry?
Why many thousands now bow down before it,
That in their Consciences do much abhor it?
Why Treachery is us'd by Complication?
Deceit and Fraud, why th'A-la-mode in fashion?
Why ranting Cowards in Buff-coats are put,
And why they Robbers turn to fill their Gut?
Why Fools in Corporations do command,
Who know nor Justice, nor the Laws o'th' Land?
Why he that brought our Necks into this Yoke,
Dreads not the thoughts of Felton's fatal Stroke?
Sure they're bewitch'd to think we Englishmen
Have no more Courage left us than a Hen.
And why that Int'rest is become the least,
In the Year Sixty greater than the rest?
We know no reason, but do all consent,
These are the Fruits of an ill Government.
Some think our Judgments do run parallel
With David's in the Days of Israel:
41
But ours have been his sore afflicting Rod,
To which we turn our naked Backs, and say,
During thy pleasure, Lord, Vive le Roy.
We pray, restore our faithful Ministers,
Whom we do own as Christ's Embassadors.
Why are our Pulpits pester'd with a Crew,
That took up Orders since black Barthol'mew?
Who Myst'ries of the Gospel know no more,
Than the dumb Calf that Israel did adore.
Too late for us to you to make our moan,
When they have led us to destruction.
Must all be Enemies of King and State,
That from the Church of England separate?
Must all the Meetings of the Innocent
Be judg'd unlawful? they to Prison sent?
'Twere better all such Edicts you made void,
And grant the Liberty they once enjoy'd;
Confirming that unto 'em by a Law,
Makes good the Royal Promise at Breda.
Tread all Monopolies into the Earth,
And make provision that no more get birth.
In this a Prince's Danger chiefly lies,
That he is forc'd to see with others Eyes.
From hence our Troubles rose in Forty One,
When that Domestick War at first began.
Relieve th'Oppress'd, and set all Pris'ners free,
Who for their Consciences in durance be.
Poor Debtors, who have not wherewith to pay,
Break off their Shackles, let them go their way.
Let no suborn'd false Witnesses appear
In Courts, against the Innocent to swear:
Let no more Juries, that are biassed,
Be pack'd to do whatever they are bid:
Who to fulfil mens Lust and Cruelty,
Have no regard altho the Guiltless die.
Why should our righteous Laws like Cobwebs be,
To catch small Flies, and let the great go free?
42
Does for the Vengeance of th'Avenger call;
Then ease those Burdens under which we groan,
Give Liberty its Resurrection.
Let painful Husbandry, that Child of Peace,
Be now encourag'd since our Wars do cease.
Let not the poor and inslav'd Peasant crave
Redress from you, and yet no Succour have.
'Tis too much like a base French Stratagem,
To make the People poor to govern them:
More happy for a Prince, when Aid he craves,
To have't from free-born Men, than injur'd Slaves.
We are free-born, we yet are English Men:
Let's not, like old Men, boast what we have been;
But make us happy by your gentle Rays,
And you shall be the Tenour of our Praise:
And our Posterity, with joint Consent,
Shall call you England's Healing Parliament.
But if you still will make our Bonds the stronger,
If Pris'ners must remain in Durance longer;
If wand'ring Stars must still by Force detrude,
Under Eclipse, those of first Magnitude;
If Prelates still must o'er our Conscience ride,
And Papists Bonfires make of us beside:
If he and they, whose Avarice and Pride
So long have rid our Backs, and gaul'd our Side;
Have got so strong an Int'rest in the State,
That their Commitment costs so long Debate,
Till means be found to further their Escape
To Foreign Parts, there to negotiate;
The Edg of Justice surely's turn'd aside,
To cut the poor Man's Flesh, and save the Hyde.
If you mens Lusts and Avarice gratify,
And yet our empty'd Purse-strings do unty;
You are too free of what was ne'er your own,
And now you only make us more to groan,
Ass-like: and surely any mortal Man
Will seek to ease his Burden if he can.
43
Your Privileges are alike concern'd
With all our Liberties; that he who doth
Infringe the one, usurps upon 'em both.
And shall it on your Doors and Tombs be writ,
This was the Parliament so long did sit;
While Conscience, Liberty, our Purse and Trade,
The Country, City, Ships, and all's betray'd?
To make an Act for building on the Urn,
But no Inquest who did the City burn:
To feed a Palmer-worm, who threw away
The Publick Stock, which Seamen should defray.
Since now you have an Opportunity,
Redeem your selves and us from Slavery:
If not, the Wheel goes round, there is no doubt,
You'l also share with those you have turn'd out.
Redeem your selves and us from Slavery:
If not, the Wheel goes round, there is no doubt,
You'l also share with those you have turn'd out.
Vivat Lex Rex.
POSTSCRIPT.
If e'er you'l leave us in a lasting Peace,
You all our Grievances must first redress.
When Rulers stop their Ears to th'Peoples Cries,
'Tis a sad Symptom of Catastrophies.
In Watch or Clock things made irregular,
Tho ne'er so small, cause all the Work to jar,
And in the Body natural 'tis found,
That if ill Humours do therein abound,
Them the Physician must extenuate,
And make 'em with the rest co-operate:
So if in Bodies politick there be
Not found, 'twixt all Estates, a Harmony;
They cease not till, in tract of Time, they bring
All to confusion, Peasant, Lord, and King.
To make some great, and ruin all the rest,
In this a Commonwealth can ne'er be blest.
And does it follow hence, Great Sir, that we
Must be undone to all Posterity?
Let Equity and Justice plead our Cause,
And then refer us to our Antient Laws.
If Magna Charta must be wholly slighted,
We must conclude our Rulers are benighted.
But needs must we be poor, when it is known
We've had a second Price of Gavestone.
Your Pow'r is Sov'reign, else we durst not quote
This poys'nous Name without an Antidote.
Perfidious Clarend—! that Potent Thief,
His Prince's Blemish, and the People's Grief;
Who once did scorn to plunder by Retail,
Who stretch'd the States Purse till the Strings did fail:
He and his Fellow-Jugglers found the knack
To plough deep Furrows on the Nation's Back.
Like Glaziers, who excite the roaring Crew,
Windows to break, that they may make them new:
So these pick Quarrels with our Neighbour Nations,
Then baul at you to peel us with Taxations;
Which having got, still more and more they crave,
Ev'n like the Horse-leech, or devouring Grave:
For Avarice cannot be satisfy'd,
No more than Belzebub, and's Brother H---.
That Macchiavel we have not yet forgot,
Who brew'd that wicked Hellish Northern Plot;
Where many Gentlemen had ruin'd been,
If Providence had not step'd in between.
Who then among your selves secure can be,
If this be not check'd by Authority?
He was one of the open-handed Tribe,
Whose Avarice ne'er yet refus'd a Bribe.
What Suit at Law soe'er before him came,
He that produc'd most Angels, won the Game:
Be't right or wrong, or Plaintiff or Defendant
Should win the day if Gold were at the end on't.
How did he send without Remorse or Fear
Thousands of English to that Grave, Tangier?
What Usage had the Scots, thousands can tell,
When the late Remonstrators did rebel.
While Irish Rebels quit their old O Hone,
Poor English Protestants take up the Tone.
Empson's and Dudley's Fact compar'd with his,
Were but Night's Darkness unto Hell's Abyss.
The famous Spencers did in time pourtray
What should be acted by this Beast of Prey.
Earth him, and you shall find within his Cell
Those Mischiefs which no Age can parallel;
War, Fire and Blood, with vast expence of Treasure,
Ruin of Englishmen, his chiefest Pleasure.
In fine, for Mischief he was what you will,
The perfect Epitome of all Ill.
All good Men hate his Name; nay, what is worse,
Three Nations dog him with their heavy Curse.
As he regarded not the Widow's Tears,
So may just Heaven multiply his Fears:
Let Cain's most dreadful Doom soon overtake him,
And his Companion Gout never forsake him:
Let Heaven's Vengeance light upon his Pate,
And all our Injuries retaliate:
Till he himself to Justice does resign,
Let all Men call him cursed Clarend—.
Most dextrous Artist! he with mighty ease
Transplanted Dunkirk from beyond the Seas,
And dropt it near that fatal Spot of Land,
Where for him Tyburn now does weeping stand.
The echoing Ax from out the Tower does call,
To speed this Monster Epidemical:
But he upon us having play'd his Prank,
Follows his Brethren Finch and Wyndebank.
Thus Hyde by Name, is Hide by Practice too,
Yet cannot hide from Heav'n, tho hid from you:
And being gone, has left his Imps behind,
Whose only Work is all our Eyes to blind;
Lest tracing him you find their Villany,
Known yet to few but the all-seeing Eye.
If any thing of common Fame be true,
He's only gone our Mischiefs to renew:
And if his Practice justify our Fears,
He'll set's again together by the Ears.
Ambition's of the nature of the Devil,
Always to brood, and hatch, and bring forth Evil.
If true the Maxim be, Kings cannot err;
With Modesty we may from thence infer,
Ill thrives that hapless Nation then that shows
A silent Prince, and Chancellor that crows
Over his Equals, over all his Peers,
Over Phanaticks, over Cavaliers.
He was so absolute, 'twas hard to say,
Or him, or Charles, whether we must obey.
Ris'n from a Gentleman too near the Throne,
Sought not the Nation's Int'rest, but his own.
You are the Bridle in such Tyrants Jaws,
Who would destroy us, and subvert the Laws.
Now hold the Reins, now keep the Ballance true,
Find those Banditti that do lie purdieu.
If you, like Cato, for your Country stand,
Three noble Nations are at your Command:
While Justice, Truth and Righteousness do guide you,
We'll be your Guard, whatever shall betide you.
Disarm the Papists, and secure our Ports,
Place Protestants in Garisons and Forts.
Why should the French and Irish here bear sway,
Who Enemies to England are this day?
Let not our Magazines remain with those
That burnt our City, and still are our Foes;
Whose Hellish bloody Principles are such,
To butcher Englishmen they think not much.
What Safety, Peace, or Trade can we expect,
When these Protection find, and you neglect
Us to secure against such Cut-throat Dogs,
As swarm now in our Land like Egypt's Frogs?
What means the flocking of the French so fast
Into our Bowels thus with Arms to haste?
And must our Horses, which of Value be,
Be thus to France transported, as we see?
Are not our Forts and Castles all betray'd,
When all their Stores and Guns aside are laid
Out of the reach of such as would oppose
Both Foreign En'mies and Domestick Foes?
Did the dumb Child, when at his Father's Throat
He saw a Knife, immediately cry out?
Can we be silent when the Train is laid,
And Fire-works made ready, as 'tis said?
Look thro the Veil, and you will soon espy
That Romish Counsels close at work do lie
To undermine you, and Religion too:
Look well about you, lest you do it rue.
You all our Grievances must first redress.
When Rulers stop their Ears to th'Peoples Cries,
'Tis a sad Symptom of Catastrophies.
In Watch or Clock things made irregular,
Tho ne'er so small, cause all the Work to jar,
And in the Body natural 'tis found,
That if ill Humours do therein abound,
Them the Physician must extenuate,
And make 'em with the rest co-operate:
So if in Bodies politick there be
Not found, 'twixt all Estates, a Harmony;
They cease not till, in tract of Time, they bring
All to confusion, Peasant, Lord, and King.
44
In this a Commonwealth can ne'er be blest.
And does it follow hence, Great Sir, that we
Must be undone to all Posterity?
Let Equity and Justice plead our Cause,
And then refer us to our Antient Laws.
If Magna Charta must be wholly slighted,
We must conclude our Rulers are benighted.
But needs must we be poor, when it is known
We've had a second Price of Gavestone.
Your Pow'r is Sov'reign, else we durst not quote
This poys'nous Name without an Antidote.
Perfidious Clarend—! that Potent Thief,
His Prince's Blemish, and the People's Grief;
Who once did scorn to plunder by Retail,
Who stretch'd the States Purse till the Strings did fail:
He and his Fellow-Jugglers found the knack
To plough deep Furrows on the Nation's Back.
Like Glaziers, who excite the roaring Crew,
Windows to break, that they may make them new:
So these pick Quarrels with our Neighbour Nations,
Then baul at you to peel us with Taxations;
Which having got, still more and more they crave,
Ev'n like the Horse-leech, or devouring Grave:
For Avarice cannot be satisfy'd,
No more than Belzebub, and's Brother H---.
That Macchiavel we have not yet forgot,
Who brew'd that wicked Hellish Northern Plot;
Where many Gentlemen had ruin'd been,
If Providence had not step'd in between.
Who then among your selves secure can be,
If this be not check'd by Authority?
He was one of the open-handed Tribe,
Whose Avarice ne'er yet refus'd a Bribe.
What Suit at Law soe'er before him came,
He that produc'd most Angels, won the Game:
Be't right or wrong, or Plaintiff or Defendant
Should win the day if Gold were at the end on't.
45
Thousands of English to that Grave, Tangier?
What Usage had the Scots, thousands can tell,
When the late Remonstrators did rebel.
While Irish Rebels quit their old O Hone,
Poor English Protestants take up the Tone.
Empson's and Dudley's Fact compar'd with his,
Were but Night's Darkness unto Hell's Abyss.
The famous Spencers did in time pourtray
What should be acted by this Beast of Prey.
Earth him, and you shall find within his Cell
Those Mischiefs which no Age can parallel;
War, Fire and Blood, with vast expence of Treasure,
Ruin of Englishmen, his chiefest Pleasure.
In fine, for Mischief he was what you will,
The perfect Epitome of all Ill.
All good Men hate his Name; nay, what is worse,
Three Nations dog him with their heavy Curse.
As he regarded not the Widow's Tears,
So may just Heaven multiply his Fears:
Let Cain's most dreadful Doom soon overtake him,
And his Companion Gout never forsake him:
Let Heaven's Vengeance light upon his Pate,
And all our Injuries retaliate:
Till he himself to Justice does resign,
Let all Men call him cursed Clarend—.
Most dextrous Artist! he with mighty ease
Transplanted Dunkirk from beyond the Seas,
And dropt it near that fatal Spot of Land,
Where for him Tyburn now does weeping stand.
The echoing Ax from out the Tower does call,
To speed this Monster Epidemical:
But he upon us having play'd his Prank,
Follows his Brethren Finch and Wyndebank.
Thus Hyde by Name, is Hide by Practice too,
Yet cannot hide from Heav'n, tho hid from you:
46
Whose only Work is all our Eyes to blind;
Lest tracing him you find their Villany,
Known yet to few but the all-seeing Eye.
If any thing of common Fame be true,
He's only gone our Mischiefs to renew:
And if his Practice justify our Fears,
He'll set's again together by the Ears.
Ambition's of the nature of the Devil,
Always to brood, and hatch, and bring forth Evil.
If true the Maxim be, Kings cannot err;
With Modesty we may from thence infer,
Ill thrives that hapless Nation then that shows
A silent Prince, and Chancellor that crows
Over his Equals, over all his Peers,
Over Phanaticks, over Cavaliers.
He was so absolute, 'twas hard to say,
Or him, or Charles, whether we must obey.
Ris'n from a Gentleman too near the Throne,
Sought not the Nation's Int'rest, but his own.
You are the Bridle in such Tyrants Jaws,
Who would destroy us, and subvert the Laws.
Now hold the Reins, now keep the Ballance true,
Find those Banditti that do lie purdieu.
If you, like Cato, for your Country stand,
Three noble Nations are at your Command:
While Justice, Truth and Righteousness do guide you,
We'll be your Guard, whatever shall betide you.
Disarm the Papists, and secure our Ports,
Place Protestants in Garisons and Forts.
Why should the French and Irish here bear sway,
Who Enemies to England are this day?
Let not our Magazines remain with those
That burnt our City, and still are our Foes;
Whose Hellish bloody Principles are such,
To butcher Englishmen they think not much.
47
When these Protection find, and you neglect
Us to secure against such Cut-throat Dogs,
As swarm now in our Land like Egypt's Frogs?
What means the flocking of the French so fast
Into our Bowels thus with Arms to haste?
And must our Horses, which of Value be,
Be thus to France transported, as we see?
Are not our Forts and Castles all betray'd,
When all their Stores and Guns aside are laid
Out of the reach of such as would oppose
Both Foreign En'mies and Domestick Foes?
Did the dumb Child, when at his Father's Throat
He saw a Knife, immediately cry out?
Can we be silent when the Train is laid,
And Fire-works made ready, as 'tis said?
Look thro the Veil, and you will soon espy
That Romish Counsels close at work do lie
To undermine you, and Religion too:
Look well about you, lest you do it rue.
Now is the time t'acquit your selves like Men,
Now stand up for your Liberties, and then
The Laurel Wreath, and never-fading Bays
Shall crown your Heads, and we will sing your Praise.
Now stand up for your Liberties, and then
The Laurel Wreath, and never-fading Bays
Shall crown your Heads, and we will sing your Praise.
Upon the Proroguing of the Parliament; or, The Club of Unanimous Voters.
Prorogue upon Prorogue! Damn'd Rogues and Whores!
First pick'd our Pockets, then turn'd us out of Doors.
Have we our Country plagu'd, and Trust betray'd,
Giv'n Polls, and Subsidies, and Royal Aid,
Hearth-Mony, Imposts on the Lawyers Fees,
Ruin'd all Trades, tormented all Degrees,
Crush'd the poor Phanaticks, broke thro all the Laws
Of Magna Charta, and the good Old Cause,
To be thus fool'd at last?
Have we more Bullion giv'n in twelve years space,
Than Norman's Bastard had, and all his Race;
Hurry'd up our Mony-Bills 'gainst Dutch and French,
And seen it spent upon a Dunghil Wench?
Did we consent the Kingdom to undo,
T'enrich an over-ridden Whore or two,
And all for this?
With Plague, War, Fire was this poor Kingdom curs'd,
While of all Plagues we were our selves the worst.
Were just Elections null'd, took we such Pain
To make a Parliament-man a Rogue in grain,
Stood to be piss'd on by the House of Peers,
Cut Coventry's Nose, and cropt his Ears?
Unworthy Gentlemen, more like Servants Race,
Run to our Master's Collar to Fox our Mace.
Did we a hundred baser Acts than these,
That we might not his Majesty displease,
To be thus serv'd?
Well-fare true Vaughan, Osborn, Howard, Carr,
Lit---ton, Sey---r, our great Men of War,
And Garraway, the Hector of the House,
That always fetch'd his Blow to kill a Louse:
These Patriots, Male-content, did plot
Their Countries Good, till they had Places got;
Bluster'd and huff'd till they were officer'd,
And then of Country more the De'el a word.
First pick'd our Pockets, then turn'd us out of Doors.
Have we our Country plagu'd, and Trust betray'd,
Giv'n Polls, and Subsidies, and Royal Aid,
48
Ruin'd all Trades, tormented all Degrees,
Crush'd the poor Phanaticks, broke thro all the Laws
Of Magna Charta, and the good Old Cause,
To be thus fool'd at last?
Have we more Bullion giv'n in twelve years space,
Than Norman's Bastard had, and all his Race;
Hurry'd up our Mony-Bills 'gainst Dutch and French,
And seen it spent upon a Dunghil Wench?
Did we consent the Kingdom to undo,
T'enrich an over-ridden Whore or two,
And all for this?
With Plague, War, Fire was this poor Kingdom curs'd,
While of all Plagues we were our selves the worst.
Were just Elections null'd, took we such Pain
To make a Parliament-man a Rogue in grain,
Stood to be piss'd on by the House of Peers,
Cut Coventry's Nose, and cropt his Ears?
Unworthy Gentlemen, more like Servants Race,
Run to our Master's Collar to Fox our Mace.
Did we a hundred baser Acts than these,
That we might not his Majesty displease,
To be thus serv'd?
Well-fare true Vaughan, Osborn, Howard, Carr,
Lit---ton, Sey---r, our great Men of War,
And Garraway, the Hector of the House,
That always fetch'd his Blow to kill a Louse:
These Patriots, Male-content, did plot
Their Countries Good, till they had Places got;
Bluster'd and huff'd till they were officer'd,
And then of Country more the De'el a word.
Damn'd Buckingham! of a false Sire the Son!
Did we for this dismount old Clarendon
To set thee up, thou mighty Man of State,
And in thy hands put the whole Kingdom's Fate?
Did we forget thy former Treachery,
When safe, thou left'st our King in Misery?
Turn'd sneaking Renegade to what was Trump,
And swor'st Allegiance to the rotten Rump?
Did we free thee, when Chancellor thee mumbled,
And when thou wert by him from Post to Pillar tumbled?
Did we connive at taking Shrewsbury's Life,
That with more freedom thou might'st have his Wife,
To be requited thus? Ungrateful Wretch!
May Pox, and Plague, and Devil hence thee fetch!
Or some Prorogu'd, incensed Felton rather
Send this curs'd Son to find his guilty Father!
No other way could'st find t'attain thy Ends,
Than to disgust the King with his best Friends?
Turn out a Parliament, that ne'er King before
Had such a one, nor ever will have more?
Did we give cause to fear we should not do
Whate'er the King or thou command'st us to?
If Standing-Army 'tis thou wouldst be at,
We could as well as others have rais'd that.
We could have made, as well as any other,
A Bastard Race Legitimate as Brother:
Consented to send back the barren Queen,
And a new Issue had, had that your Humour been.
League Tripartite we could have broke, the Dance
Chang'd to the Musick of the Pipe of France:
Sneer, and look thro the Fingers to behold
New London flaming, as you did the old.
We freely could have rais'd a Citadel,
As well the City as the Dutch to quell:
We coul make Plots, as Oliver on Hewit,
And make such guilty of 'em as ne'er knew it.
And must we after all this Service done,
In Field for Father, and in House for Son,
Be thus cashier'd to please a pocky Peer,
Who neither Roundhead is, nor Cavalier?
But of some medley-cut, some ill-shap'd Brat,
Would fain be something if he knew but what.
For Commonwealth he vogues himself to be,
And by and by for Abs'lute Monarchy:
Then neither likes; but some new knick-knack found,
Not Fish, not Flesh, not square, and yet not round.
Venetian Model pleases him to-night,
To-morrow Morning France is in the right.
Thus he, like Butterflies, much flutter makes;
Sleeps of one Judgment, of another wakes.
Zealous at Morn, he will a Bishop make,
Yet before night all Bishops down he'll take.
He all things is, but yet to nothing true;
All old things hates, nor can endure the new.
But please your pocky Grace to give me leave
To ask why thus you do your King deceive?
Your first Prorogu'd sure might have stood, for then
'Twas time enough for to Prorogue agen;
And not all in a hurry, sev'n Months before
Our former not expir'd, to add six more.
Did we for this dismount old Clarendon
To set thee up, thou mighty Man of State,
And in thy hands put the whole Kingdom's Fate?
49
When safe, thou left'st our King in Misery?
Turn'd sneaking Renegade to what was Trump,
And swor'st Allegiance to the rotten Rump?
Did we free thee, when Chancellor thee mumbled,
And when thou wert by him from Post to Pillar tumbled?
Did we connive at taking Shrewsbury's Life,
That with more freedom thou might'st have his Wife,
To be requited thus? Ungrateful Wretch!
May Pox, and Plague, and Devil hence thee fetch!
Or some Prorogu'd, incensed Felton rather
Send this curs'd Son to find his guilty Father!
No other way could'st find t'attain thy Ends,
Than to disgust the King with his best Friends?
Turn out a Parliament, that ne'er King before
Had such a one, nor ever will have more?
Did we give cause to fear we should not do
Whate'er the King or thou command'st us to?
If Standing-Army 'tis thou wouldst be at,
We could as well as others have rais'd that.
We could have made, as well as any other,
A Bastard Race Legitimate as Brother:
Consented to send back the barren Queen,
And a new Issue had, had that your Humour been.
League Tripartite we could have broke, the Dance
Chang'd to the Musick of the Pipe of France:
Sneer, and look thro the Fingers to behold
New London flaming, as you did the old.
We freely could have rais'd a Citadel,
As well the City as the Dutch to quell:
We coul make Plots, as Oliver on Hewit,
And make such guilty of 'em as ne'er knew it.
And must we after all this Service done,
In Field for Father, and in House for Son,
Be thus cashier'd to please a pocky Peer,
Who neither Roundhead is, nor Cavalier?
50
Would fain be something if he knew but what.
For Commonwealth he vogues himself to be,
And by and by for Abs'lute Monarchy:
Then neither likes; but some new knick-knack found,
Not Fish, not Flesh, not square, and yet not round.
Venetian Model pleases him to-night,
To-morrow Morning France is in the right.
Thus he, like Butterflies, much flutter makes;
Sleeps of one Judgment, of another wakes.
Zealous at Morn, he will a Bishop make,
Yet before night all Bishops down he'll take.
He all things is, but yet to nothing true;
All old things hates, nor can endure the new.
But please your pocky Grace to give me leave
To ask why thus you do your King deceive?
Your first Prorogu'd sure might have stood, for then
'Twas time enough for to Prorogue agen;
And not all in a hurry, sev'n Months before
Our former not expir'd, to add six more.
Nell's in again we hear, tho we are out;
Methinks we might have met to have giv'n a Clout,
And then Prorogu'd again: our Wont has been
Never to miss a Sessions 'gainst Lying-in.
For always 'gainst that time the French invade,
'Gainst whom we Mony raise to keep the Jade.
And ten to one before the Spring be over,
Our Cavalry must march again to Dover,
To guard the Shore against the Dutch and French;
When all this means but new Supplies for Wench.
The curs'd Cabal saw 'twas in vain to move
For Dissolution; we had too much Love
To be dissolv'd; which put you to find out
This damn'd side-wind to bring the end about.
For now the sacred Cod-piece must keep Lent,
Unless Phanaticks lend, or Mony from France be sent.
Had we but hearken'd, and a fair Game play'd,
We had prevented thus our being betray'd.
For had we Observation made, we might
Have known at Morn the Fate we found at Night.
For Cæsar never more Presages had
Of falling Greatness, than to us were made.
Methinks we might have met to have giv'n a Clout,
And then Prorogu'd again: our Wont has been
Never to miss a Sessions 'gainst Lying-in.
For always 'gainst that time the French invade,
'Gainst whom we Mony raise to keep the Jade.
And ten to one before the Spring be over,
Our Cavalry must march again to Dover,
To guard the Shore against the Dutch and French;
When all this means but new Supplies for Wench.
The curs'd Cabal saw 'twas in vain to move
For Dissolution; we had too much Love
To be dissolv'd; which put you to find out
This damn'd side-wind to bring the end about.
51
Unless Phanaticks lend, or Mony from France be sent.
Had we but hearken'd, and a fair Game play'd,
We had prevented thus our being betray'd.
For had we Observation made, we might
Have known at Morn the Fate we found at Night.
For Cæsar never more Presages had
Of falling Greatness, than to us were made.
Crow cross'd the Speaker's Coach as to the House he came,
On Crutches that day went the Cripple lame.
The Thames at our Proroguing backward run;
Moon shone at Noon-day, and at Night the Sun.
A hollow earthly Voice i'th' House was heard,
Which made the Speaker of Guy Faux afraid.
Owen's Pease-Pottage unkindly boil'd that day;
A foul Handkerchief in Pocket had Bab May.
That day our Clock too was upon its Tricks,
Would not go right; strikes five when 'twas near six.
But since there's no resisting of our Fate,
We hope we may have leave to invocate.
On Crutches that day went the Cripple lame.
The Thames at our Proroguing backward run;
Moon shone at Noon-day, and at Night the Sun.
A hollow earthly Voice i'th' House was heard,
Which made the Speaker of Guy Faux afraid.
Owen's Pease-Pottage unkindly boil'd that day;
A foul Handkerchief in Pocket had Bab May.
That day our Clock too was upon its Tricks,
Would not go right; strikes five when 'twas near six.
But since there's no resisting of our Fate,
We hope we may have leave to invocate.
Ah! sweet Revenge! may we but live to see
Such Rogues prorogued too as well as we!
Indulge our Envy but to see that day,
Tho we are ruin'd by it as well as they.
We Tyrants love, if we can Tyrants be;
If not, next Wish is we may all be Free.
Such Rogues prorogued too as well as we!
Indulge our Envy but to see that day,
Tho we are ruin'd by it as well as they.
We Tyrants love, if we can Tyrants be;
If not, next Wish is we may all be Free.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |