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State Tracts

Containing Many Necessary Observations and Reflections on the State of our Affairs at Home and Abroad; With some Secret Memoirs. By the Author of the Examiner [i.e. William Oldisworth]

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THE SPLITTER OF FREE-HOLDS.
  
  
  
  


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THE SPLITTER OF FREE-HOLDS.

Long has the City been the Scene of Vice,
Whence every Seed of Mischief takes its Rise;
But in the Country better prospers now,
Under th'industrious Tillage of the Plow.
Strange Pow'r of Ignorance and Rustick Pride,
That does triumphant o'er Mens Reasons ride,
And leaves the Hind free from the least Pretence
Of Manners, Honesty, or Conscience!
He with Religious Frenzy fills his Brain,
Then cancels all the Reason of the Man;
Lead by the Nose, under Pretence of Zeal
For Moderation and the Common-weal,

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Resigns his Conscience to his Teacher's Care,
And sleeps supinely without Wit or Fear.
This is the Man that calls himself Born Free,
And votes so zealously for Liberty;
Yet cannot tell what by the Thing he means
That Liberty and Property maintains.
It is in vain for to instruct his Mind,
He is to every thing, but Passion, blind.
If his Spleen-Preacher be discontent
Against the Queen, or else the Government,
This busie Fool engages in the Cause,
And breaks the Peace to regulate the Laws:
Or like Old Noll, who with Geneva Tye
Cou'd better swallow down State-Perjury:
Else what makes now-a-days each Country Clown
Swallow their Voting Oaths so glibly down?
Turn o'er their Free-holds to their Neighbour strait,
And for Religion carry on the Cheat.
So round whole Counties let the Frolick run,
Faces mean while of Sanctity put on;

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Fail not uncharitably to suggest
The Church has got upon't the Mark at least
Of Persecution, if not of the Beast.
This Antichristian Censure each bestows,
Which from their want of True Religion flows,
That and Ill-nature hand in hand still goes.
These are the Men that Moderation chuse,
Not to hide Faults, but Villany to use.
Vice may be good, if circumscrib'd by Grace;
'Tis as apply'd, in a right Time and Case.
For Christ's sake still the Godly plead for Sin,
Hypocrisie is reckon'd then Divine;
A Saint without ne'er wants a Knave within.
But it is time such Rogu'ry to display,
And shew the Men, tho' we can't shew their Way;
Let Satyr pour her utmost Vengeance down,
And load them home with Crimes that are their own,
With Crimes to ev'ry Age before unknown;
Such as the Heathen World would ne'er believe,
That Men themselves so grosly cou'd deceive,

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To perpetrate such Crimes as want a Name,
And cannot be reveal'd without their Shame,
Who have involv'd a Nation in a Vice,
Wherein the deepest Gulph of Misery lies,
If publick Actions favour Perjury,
They're Fools that Laws and Government obey,
If that's their Aim, Satyr, be it thy End,
Thy Country from their Poison to defend;
Which is malignant, and will spread o'er all,
If once permitted to be National.
Rip up their Breasts who are infected deep,
And wou'd with Pleasure lull the rest to sleep;
Curse with Satyrick Rage the monstrous Man,
That Splitting English Free-holds first began.
If it from B---ks do claim its Hellish Rise,
We may conclude it a Fanatick Vice,
Sprung from the Patron of that perjur'd Race,
Which has the Mark of Whig writ in his Face;
And was he not a Shame to ev'ry Peer,
I'd write his Name as well as Character:

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But then, good Heav'ns! what a spacious Field
The very Letters of his Name wou'd yield!
Whoe'er durst read 'em wou'd turn pale with fear,
How innocent before soe'er they were:
A huge long Scroll of Vice lies at his Door,
Rebellion first, and in the Rear a Wh---re;
Tyburn's left out, for that's a sacred Tree,
On which hangs Truth sometimes, as well as Villany;
No Place therefore for such rank W---gs as he.
Shou'd all th'Enthusiasts in thy Train appear,
Hell, what a num'rous Croud wilt thou have there!
When howling Quakers shall 'gainst thee complain,
For now, instead of One, thou hast damn'd Ten,
Who, when in Chains, will curse their Fate and thee,
Who taught 'em first the Cheat of being Free,
To damn themselves in endless Misery.
Oh! let the Poet's Curse prevent thy Fate,
Rob not the Church with care to serve the State,
For Politicks shou'd on Religion wait.

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Nor by fat Bribes the Peoples Rights to save,
Both them and their Religion to enslave:
For Perjury, when encourag'd by a State,
Will make it little soon, its Misery great.
When Legislators dare not once oppose
That Vice which has them to their Office chose,
Then Laws must sink, and with Religion lie,
The Jest of ev'ry State Incendiary.
This is the Case, and thus we're bought and sold
By ev'ry Knave, a Splitter of Free-hold,
Who barters English Liberty for Gold;
Talks much of God, and of Religious Zeal,
With Peace and Union in the Common-weal,
Which in his Country he promotes so much,
You cannot tell a Conventicle from a Church;
The Difference only by the Test is known,
One's for dividing what is not his own,
And casting Lots with High-Church for their own.
The other hating Splitters, can't agree
To such a kind of Christian Unity.

303

Both may pretend to palliate as they please,
But Moderation is the State Disease.
Whoe'er dare venture on the Cure, at first
Must launch th'Imposthume e'er the Poison burst,
Then to the bottom rankle in the Wound,
Till he has cleans'd each Part, and made it sound.
But e'er the Cure is done, he must prepare
All the Reproaches of the Sick to bear.
Then, Satyr, arm thy self with pointed Steel,
Make Free-hold Splitters all thy Venom feel;
Tell how for D---r S--- Interest made,
How many Traps for Villany were laid,
How many Free-holders were there betray'd:
Tell more, and add thy Curses to 'em all,
That such rank Villains may yet deeper fall:
What Vengeance great enough can on them lie
Who sell their Souls, yet cry up Liberty?
Peace, Peace, abroad in ev'ry Town proclaim,
Yet to destroy that Peace themselves they damn;
Against their Int'rest for their Int'rest vote,
And on the Men who ruin them, most doat.

304

For Slavish Ends no doubt such Men were born,
Who hate Instruction, and their Teachers scorn:
Teachers appointed to inform their Minds,
T'observe whose Doctrine too their Duty binds.
Not Teachers who've usurp'd upon the Laws,
And preach up Splitting to support their Cause:
But how that Doctrine can be made t'agree
With Peace and Moderation-Sanctity,
They who divide, Satyr, can better tell than thee.
Their Principles thou by Dissention knows,
For still their Practice with their Preaching goes;
Both bent to finish what they have begun,
And Split the Church as Free-holds they have done.
Witness their mighty Industry and Pains
Bestow'd in E---x, where their R---ry reigns,
And will remain a Monument of Shame
To M---m's Credit, and to W---n's Fame:
While publick Funds pay off their Alehouse Scores,
And Aulick Pensions purchase Senators.
But, Satyr, hence fresh Springs of Mischief flow,
Mischiefs thou canst not trace, or truly know;

305

While Herds of K---s in Consultation sit,
And Act what most their black Designs may fit;
Stop at no V---y to gain their Ends,
By Bribing Foes, or Perjuring of Friends;
While one poor Freehold's made the Grand Deceit,
To carry on the new-invented Cheat,
Fools to delude, and to oblige the Great.
Hundreds of Wretches under the Pretence
Of Interest, Liberty, or Conscience,
Are drawn into the Snare, the spreading Vice
Of falsest Oaths, and wilful Forgeries:
When Forty Freeholds in one Hour are made
By the same Lands, and the same written Deed,
In Course to one another still convey'd.
Satyr proceed, this is but one of those
Grand Cheats by which these Men their M---rs chose;
The Splitting-way draws more weak Brethren in,
Has more Pretence, and a more damning Sin;
One of the blackest Dye, that ruins more
Than ever will be sav'd by H--- or Sh---re,

306

The first Arch-rebel ne'er had such a Thought,
Else he'd more Angels to his Party got:
Some Cunning Devil has hit on this of late,
To ruin those he ne'er cou'd injure yet.
A Rebel must the first Inventer be,
A Sneaking Devil, that hates the Hierarchy,
For Splitting's opposite to Monarchy.
This is the Basis on which now we stand,
The Prop of Peace that's to support the Land;
That is, to Calm the Dang'rous Tide of Strife,
That ebbs and flows as this receives new Life.
Come hither, Satyr, and help me to Curse
The Man who once was loaded with a Purse,
Who R---g---t by his Minion T---s---n bought,
And there the Freehold Splitting Myst'ry taught;
Load him with the worst Plagues of Humane Life,
Old P---y Ulcers, and the S---ns Wife;
Let him be never from her J---ue free,
But D---n th'Entail on his Posterity.

307

How can a Nation think e'er to be blest,
When all their Riches are by W--- possest,
Who wou'd perswade the People to content,
By making them believe that they are sent,
As the Poor Hermite said, for Peaceful Ends?
A hopeful Project! likely to succeed
As the Cat's preaching in Monastick Weed.
Good Brother Mouse, come forth, and let us chat,
I'm now a Priest you see, I am no Cat;
When Cats say Mass, Mice pray against their Will;
Puss may look smug, her Heart is wicked still.
The Moral needs small Application
To those who live by Moderation,
Divide the People to Unite the Nation.
But these are Edomites, who wou'd Prophane
All we possess as sacred, for their Gain;
And sell our Birthrights for a Mess of Broth
Well spic'd and season'd with a pious Oath;

308

Their Throats are wide enough to swallow down
A Pope, was he but larded with a Crown;
But yet 'tis strange, their Consciences are strait,
And fit to choak 'em, fed with plain Church Meat.
They're much offended at St. Andrew's Steeple,
And say it is an Eye-sore to the People;
While others think it looks like Babylon,
And can't be call'd a Christian Corner-stone;
For, if you wou'd believe them on their Word,
They wou'd destroy't with Moderation-Fire and Sword;
The Keenest Sword's the Weapon of the Spirit,
And that they do religiously inherit.
Witness the Pious M---x Election,
That shows it self without so much Inspection;
It needs no Catalogue, a Thing in Fashion,
For that wont shew their Bonds of Resignation;
How many Purchases were lately made,
And whether now they are not reconvey'd;

309

How many Freeholders of Millers, Bakers,
Some Coachmen, Footmen, but many Quakers,
Who ne'er yet saw their Houses, nor their Acres.
There's scarce a Swords-man for 'em did appear,
And not one Gentleman of Note was there.
These are the Men into the Snare are drawn,
To Vote up Scotchcloath, and to cry down Lawn;
But were this all the Matter 'twou'd be well,
Their Deeds are Blacker yet, Blacker than Hell;
Let H---n Witness, Votes were Bought and Sold,
Ten Shillings Free, and Thirty Copy-hold.
He that of little Parcels cou'd make more,
Shou'd have paid down a Hundred for the Score,
Barns and Thatch'd Houses that on Freehold stood,
Tho' let at Twenty, were swore Forty good.
England may boast her num'rous Freeholds more,
Than ever M---x cou'd claim of Yore,
For now they're reckon'd to exceed their Poor.
Their List of F--- more Eminent appears
In their large Catalogue of Wappineers;

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Nor does White-Chapel fall the least behind,
They swore as heartily, and were as kind;
Fathers for Sons, and Sons for Fathers swore,
And what wou'd you have zealous W--- do more,
Than D--- their Families to serve a Turn,
And for a Righteous Cause Hang, Drown, or Burn?