 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
A New Song of the Times.
1683.
1
'Twere folly for everThe Whigs to Endeavour
Disowning their Plots, when all the world knows 'um;
Did they not fix
On a Council of Six,
Appointed to Govern though no body chose 'um?
They that bore sway,
Knew not one would Obey,
Did Trincalo make such a ridiculous pother:
Monmouth's the Head,
To strike Monarchy dead,
They chose themselves Vice-Roys all o're one another.
2
Was't not a damn'd thingFor Russel and Hambden,
To serve all the Projects of hot-headed Tony?
But much more untoward,
To appoint my Lord Howard
Of his own Purse and Credit to raise Men and Money?
251
Those brisk Boys unspy'd,
Who at Shaftsbury's whistle were ready to follow;
And when Aid he should bring,
Like a true Brandford King,
Was here with a whoop & gone with a hollow.
3
Algernoon Sidney,Of Commonwealth Kidney,
Compos'd a damn'd Libel (ay marry was it)
Writ to occasion
Ill-Blood in the Nation,
And therefore dispers'd it all over his Closet.
It was not the Writing
Was prov'd, or Indicting;
Tho' he urg'd Statutes, what was it but fooling,
Since a new Trust is
Plac'd in the Chief Justice,
To damn Law and Reason too by Over-ruling.
4
What if a Traytor,In spite of the State Sir,
Should cut his own Throat from one Ear to the other?
Shall then a new freak
Make Braddon and Speak
To be more concern'd than his Wife or his Brother?
A Razor all bloody,
Thrown out of a Study,
Is Evidence strong of his desperate Guilt, Sir;
So Godfrey, when dead,
Full of horrour and dread,
Run his Sword thro' his Body up to the Hilt Sir.
5
Who can think the case hardOf Sir Patience Ward,
That lov'd his just Rights more than those of his Highness?
252
As on Record appears,
Not to hear when to doe the Papists a kindness.
An old doting Citt,
With his Elizabeth Wit,
Against the French mode for freedom to hope on.
His Ears that told lies,
Were less dull than his Eyes,
For both them were shut when all others were open.
6
All Europe togetherCan't shew such a Father,
So tenderly nice of his Son's Reputation,
As our good King is,
To labour to bring his,
By tricks to subscribe to a sham Declaration.
'Twas very good reason
To pardon his Treason,
To obey (not his own, but) his Brother's Command, Sir;
To merit whose grace,
He must in the first place
Confess he's dishonest under his hand, Sir.
7
Since Fate the Court blesses,With daily Successes,
And giving up Charters go round for a frolick,
Whilst our D--- Nero,
The Churches blind Hero
By Murder is planting his Faith Apostolick.
Our Modern Sages,
More wise than past Ages,
Think ours to Establish by Popish Successors;
Queen Bess never thought it,
And Cecil forgot it,
But 'tis lately found out by our prudent Addressors.
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