 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
79
The Character.
The Lords and Commons having had their Doom,The banish'd Romans now supply their room;
And in full Herds they publickly appear,
Bearding both Protestant and Presbyter.
Yet do not so resent the foul Affront,
To take up Arms, and make Rebellion on't:
Nor do not sleep, but by the Drum and Fife,
To keep thy Throat from bloody Jesuit's Knife:
Tho Murder be in us a bloody Fact,
In holy Priests it is a holy Act.
If Priest and Knife be consecrated then,
By Blood and Massacre they Heaven win;
While we, poor Souls! are damn'd for the same Sin.
Who would not be a sacred Priest to Rome,
Since they can save, or give eternal Doom?
Make Virtue damn'd, and meritorious Vice
They snatch'd from Hell, and sent to Paradise.
And more to confirm their farther Glory,
They call and take a touch in Purgatory.
80
Bold were the Man durst say that Godfrey's dead:
That i'th' Queen's Slaughter-house his Blood was shed,
Or she consent to have him murdered.
Or who dares say the Temple was on fire,
By the contrivance of some Priest or Fry'r?
To burn Commissions hid in Langhorn's Room,
To blind the Plot, and clear the Lords of Rome.
O Parliament most weak, that could'st not see,
Thy self dissolv'd by thy own Treachery!
Contending with thy King, his Laws and Pow'r,
Intrenching on's Prerogative each hour;
Flying i'th' Face of his Supremacy,
With saucy Privilege and Liberty.
Had ever Men such reason to comply,
When e'en the Nation's Ruin is so nigh?
Had you been wise, and given the King a Sum,
You might have had your swinge at bloody Rome.
Finding no Coin, we cannot find the Plot;
The Jesuits have the Bag, and so 'tis not.
The Priest quick-sighted wisely did the Feat,
Made thee thus little, and himself thus great;
And well he might, when York was in the Cheat.
The Serpent's Seed is now abroad agen,
Great Hell's Long Parliament is rais'd from's Den,
To teach young Colt his black Rebellion,
Form'd and begot by the old damn'd Stallion,
Whose pregnant Issue's quick and nimble Sense
Exactly copies the Sire's Impudence;
Treading his Steps with full and violent Force,
Flies in the Face of Majesty in course:
The young out-throws the old at least a Bar,
For he but only 'gainst the King made War.
This Start-up, bold in big and thund'ring Words,
Beards both the King, his Bishops, and his Lords,
And would assume at once, and at one hour,
The Royal Office, and the Sovereign Pow'r.
81
'Tis we, the Commons, do command it so.
As King and Peers were Shepherds in the State,
And they the only Figures of Debate.
Traitor and Parliament do seem two Things,
But equal is the venom of their Stings.
Against Prerogative they plead Privilege,
That fatal By-blow with a double Edg,
The Pride o'th' Parliament, the Country's Pledg;
By which they're jilted, and ne'er thought a Curse,
The Commons and the Countries tender Nurse;
And for their Health they let 'em Blood i'th' Purse.
You call t'account what Men with Mony have done:
Let me ask you where all your Wisdom's gone?
'Tis plain to Foreign Monarchs you have none.
Where is it then? with you 'twas left in trust;
Come you to th'Bar, and prove if you are just.
The Court has sworn it ne'er shall harbour there,
Wisdom's a Burden fit for Beasts to bear:
The City does not value it i'th' least,
Because it does not bring them Interest.
The Clergy are so full, so stuff'd with Grace,
There is no room for Wisdom in that Place.
The Lawyers have such knavish Quirks and Tricks,
That Wisdom scorns with such base Dross to mix:
By search we've found what Person let it pass,
It was exhausted as the Treasure was.
The Chancellor has confess'd, with much ado,
It was embezel'd in a Speech or two.
Th' infatuated Jews, their Sense being gone,
Made War among themselves, and still fought on,
Till they were conquer'd by Vespasian.
So you fall out like sensless Stones and Stocks,
Flying at each other ev'n like Dogs at Cocks:
To satisfy your Pride, you split on Rocks.
You've made a Vote, the Land will arm the Sea,
Because the King and Peers will not obey;
82
Reasons why you ought to command in chief.
Your Pride obstructs your Great Affair each Hour,
By your too saucy Privilege and Power.
In short, your renown'd Character is this:
A Curse you're to the Nation, not a Bliss.
The House of Commons is the Rabble's God,
The Courtiers Scourge, the Bishops Iron Rod,
The Lords Vexation, and the King's by—.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |