University of Virginia Library

ROCHESTER's Farewell, 1680.

Tir'd with the noysome Follies of the Age,
And weary of my part, I quit the Stage;
For who in Life's dull Farce a part would bear,
Where Rogues, Whores, Bawds, all the head Actors are?
Long I with charitable Malice strove,
Lashing the Court, those Vermin to remove,
But thriving Vice under the Rod still grew,
As aged Letchers whipp'd, their Lust renew;
Yet though my Life hath unsuccessfull been,
(For who can this Augæan Stable clean)
My gen'rous end I will pursue in Death,
And at Mankind rail with my parting breath.
First then, the Tangier Bullies must appear,
With open Bravery, and dissembled Fear:
Mulg---e their Head, but Gen'ral have a care,
Though skill'd in all those Arts that cheat the fair,
The undiscerning and impartial Moor,
Spares not the Lover on the Ladies score.
Think how many perish by one fatal shot,
The Conquests all thy Goggling ever got.
Think then (as I presume you do) how all
The English Ladies will lament your fall;
Scarce will there greater Grief pierce every heart,
Should Sir George Hewit or Sir Carr depart.
Had it not better been than thus to roam,
To stay and tie the Cravat-string at home?
To strut, look big, shake Pantaloon, and swear
With Hewit, Dame, there's no Action there.
Had'st thou no Friend that wou'd to Rouly write,
To hinder this thy eagerness to fight?
That without danger thou a Brave might'st be,
As sure to be deny'd as Shrews---y.
This sure the Ladies had not fail'd to do,
But who such Courage could suspect in you?
For say, what reason could with you prevail,
To change Embroider'd Coat for Coat of Mail?
Let Plim---h, or let Mord---t go, whom Fate
Has made not valiant but desperate.
For who could not be weary of his Life,
Who's lost his Money, or has got a Wife?
To the more tolerable Alcaid of Alcazzer,
One flies from Creditors, the other from Frazier;
'Twere cruelty to make too sharp Remarks,
On all the little, forward, fighting Sparks;
Only poor Charles I can't but pity thee,
When all the pert young Voluntiers I see.
Those Chits of War, who as much Mirth create
As the Pair Royal of the Chits of State:
Their Names shall equal all excelling Glory,
Chit Sund---d, Chit God---n, and Chit L---y.
When thou let'st Plim---h, 'twas such a jest,
As when the Brother made the same request;
Had Rich---d but got leave as well as he,
The Jest had been compleat and worthy thee.
Well, since he must, he'll to Tangier advance
It is resolv'd, but first let's have a Dance
First, at her Highness Ball he must appear,
And in a parting Country Dance, learn there
With Drum and Fife to make a Jigg of War;
What is of Soldier seen in all the heap,
Besides the flutt'ring Feather in the Cap,
The Scarf, and Yard or two of Scarlet Cloath,
From Gen'ral Mulg---e down to little Wroth?
But now they're all embark'd and curse there Fate,
Curse Charles that gave them leave, and much more Kate,
Who then Tangier to England and the King
No greater Plague, besides her self, could bring;
And wish the Moors, since now their hand is in,
As they have got her Portion, had the Queen.
There leave we them and back to England come,
Whereby the wiser Sparks that stay at home,
In safe Ideas by their fancy form'd,
Tangier (like Maestrich) is at Windsor storm'd.
But now we talk of Maestrich, where is he,
Fam'd for that brutal piece of Bravery?
He with his thick impenetrable Skull,
The solid, hard'ned Armour of a Fool:
Well might himself to all Wars ills expose,
Who (come what will yet) had no Brains to lose.
Yet this is he, the dull unthinking he,
Who must (forsooth) our future Monarch be,
This Fool by Fools (Armstrong and Vern---n) led,
Dreams that a Crown will drop upon his Head,
By great example he this Path doth tread,
Following such sensless Asses up and down,
(For Saul sought Asses when he found a Crown)
But Rosse is risen as Samuel at his call,
To tell that God hath left the ambitious Saul.
Never (says Heaven) shall the blushing Sun,
See P---s Bastard fill the Regal Throne.
So Heaven says, but Bran---n says he shall,
But whoe'er he protects is sure to fall.
Who can more certain of Destruction be,
Than he that trusts to such a Rogue as he?
What good can come from him who York forsook,
T'espouse the Interest of this Booby Duke?
But who the best of Masters could desert,
Is the most fit to take a Traytor's part.
Ungratefull! This thy Master-piece of sin,
Exceeds ev'n that with which thou did'st begin.
Thou great Proficient in the Trade of Hell,
Whose latter Crimes still do thy first excell:
The very top of Villany we seize,
By steps in order, and by just degrees.
None e'er was perfect Villain in one day,
The murder'd Boy to Treason led the way;
But when degrees of Villany we name,
How can we choose but think on Buck---m?
He who through all of them hath boldly ran,
Lest ne'er a Law unbroke of God or Man.
His treasured Sins of Supererogation,
Swell to a summ enough to damn a Nation:
But he must here, per force, be let alone,
His acts require a Volume of their own:
Where rank'd in dreadfull order shall appear,
All his Exploits from Shrews---y to Le Meer.
But stay, methinks I on a sudden find,
My Pen to treat of th'other Sex, inclin'd;
But where in all this choice shall I begin?
Where, but with the renowned Mazarine?
For all the Bawds the Courts rank Soil doth bear,
And Bawds and States-men grow in plenty there.
To thee submit and yield, should we be just,
To thy experienc'd and well travell'd Lust:
Thy well-known Merits claim that thou should'st be,
First in the Glorious Roll of Infamy.
To thee they all give place, and Homage pay,
Do all thy Letcherous Decrees obey;
(Thou Queen of Lust, thy Bawdy Subjects they.)
While Sussex, Brug---ll, Betty Felton come,
Thy Whores of Honour, to attend thy Throne;
For what proud Strumpet e'er could merit more,
Than be Anointed the Imperial Whore?
For tell me in all Europe, where's the part,
That is not conscious of thy Lewd desert.
The great Pedalian Youth, whose Conquests run
O'er all the World, and travel'd with the Sun,
Made not his Valour in more Nations known,
Than thou thy Lust, thy matchless Lust have shown.
All Climes, all Countries do with Tribute come,
(Thou World of Lewdness) to thy boundless Womb:
Thou Sea of Lust, that never ebb dost know,
Whither the Rivers of all Nations flow.
Lewd Messaline was but a Type of thee,
Thou highest, last degree of Letchery:
For in all Ages, except her and you,
Who ever sinn'd so high, and stoop'd so low?
She to th'Imperial Bed each Night did use,
To bring the stink of the exhausted Stews;
Tir'd (but not satisfy'd) with Man did come,
Drunk with abundant Lust, and reeling home.
But thou to our admiring Age dost show
More sin than inn'cent Rome did ever know;
And having all her Lewdnesses out-ran,
Takes up with Devil, having tir'd Man:
For what is else that loathsome ugly Black,
Which you and Sussex in your Arms do take?
Nor does old Age, which now rides on so fast,
Make thee come short of all thy Lewdness past:
Though on thy Head, Grey Hairs like Etna's Snow
Are shed, thou'rt Fire and Brimstone all below.
Thou monstrous thing, in whom at once does rage
The flames of Youth and Impotence of Age.
My Lady Dutchess takes the second place,
Proud with thy favour and peculiar grace;
Ev'n she with all her Piety and Zeal,
The hotter flames that burn in thee does feel.
Thou dost into her kindling breast inspire,
The lustfull Seeds of thy contagious fire;
So well the Spirit and the Flesh agree,
Lust and Devotion, Zeal and Letchery.
Important use Religion's made,
By those who wisely drive the cheating Trade;
As Wines prohibited securely pass,
Changing the Name of their own native Place.
So Vice grows safe, drest in Devotion's Name,
Unquestion'd by the Custom house of Fame:
Where e'er so much of Sanctity you see,
Be more suspicious of hid Villany;
Whose 'ever Zeal is than his Neighbours more,
If Man think he's a Rogue, if Woman Whore:
And such a thing art thou religious Pride,
So very Lewd, and yet so sanctify'd.
Let now the Dutchess take no further care
Of humorous Stallions, let her not dispair,
Since her indulgent Stars so kind have been,
To send her Bromley and Mazarine;
This last doth banish'd Monmouth's place supply,
And Wit supplanted is by Letchery.
For Monmouth he had Parts, and Wit, and Sense,
To all which Mazarine had no pretence;
A proof that since such things as he prevail,
Her Highness Head is lighter than her Tail.
But stay, I Portsmouth almost had forgot,
The common Theam of ev'ry rhiming Sot;
She'll after railing make us laugh a while,
For at her Folly who can chuse but smile?
While them who always slight her, great she makes,
And so much pains to be despis'd she takes.
Goes sauntring with her Highness up to Town,
To an old Play, and in the dark come down;
Still makes her Court to her as to the Queen,
But still is Justled out by Mazarine.
So much more Worthy a kind Bawd is thought,
Than ever she who her from Exile brought.
O Portsmouth, foolish Portsmouth! Not to take
The offer the great Sun---d did make,
When cringing at thy Feet; e'er Monmouth bow'd,
The Golden Calf, that's worshipp'd by the Crowd.
But thou for Y---k, who now despises thee,
To leave both him and pow'rfull Shaftsbury.
If this is all the Policy you know,
This all the skill in States you boast of so,
How wisely did thy Countrys Laws ordain,
Never to let the foolish Women reign.
But what must we expect, who daily see
Unthinking Charles rul'd by Unthinking thee.