Vulgus Britannicus :: :: University of Virginia Library

No sooner were each noisy Rude
Division of the Daring Croud
Brought, by their furious Chiefs before,
A Meeting-Window, or a Door;
But Clubs and Staves, and other Tackle,
Soon forc'd the Boarded Tabernacle;

And serv'd the roaring Desperadoes,
Instead of Bombs and Handgranadoes;
For e'ery strong revengeful Stroak,
And eager bold destructive Knock;
Were given with so good a Heart,
They made a Board or Pannel start;
No artful Strength of Bar or Bolt,
Could stand so vigorous an Assault;
Where willing Hands in Concord Joyn'd,
Soon finish'd what the Brutes design'd;
Who ne'er stood musing shilly shall I;
But when they'd enter'd Meeting Ally,
Like Furies nimbly fell to work,
And did strange Wonders with a Jirk;
Such that amaz'd the Suff'ring side,
That nothing but the Pope some cry'd,
Or Devil, could bewitch the Mob,
To perpetrate so base a Job;
Thus Sathan often bears the blame,
When Man alone deserves the shame;
For some to Good are so averse,
They need no Dev'l to make 'em worse.

By their first Rapine made expert,
They plunder'd now like Men of Art;
With so much readyness run thro' it,
As if they'd been Apprentic'd to it;
And did their sev'ral Meetings gut,
I'th' time a Monkey cracks a Nut;
The sturdy Pannels tho' of Oak,
And stubborn Beams and Boards they broak,
With as much ease when Warm and Angry,
As they do Pie-Crust when they're Hungry;
The Doors from off their Hinges flew,
And Nails o'th' biggest Size they drew;
More nimbly with their Knocks and Thumps,
Than Tonsor Quack draws Rotten Stumps;
And when the active Brutes had done,
The Second Work they'd thus begun;
The Sacred Spoils they glean'd abroad,
They brought into the Western Road;
And there among the Chanc'ry Inns,
Where Sins are punish'd oft with Sins;
And spiteful Knaves that love Disputes,
Give earnest for their Endless Sutes;

They laid their broken Plunder down,
Gather'd from sev'ral Parts oth' Town;
That in the mid'st of that High-street,
Where Rogues their dying Comrades Greet;
As the Pale Wretches backwards slide,
In Carts and Sledges to be ty'd;
They might erect a second Holy
Bonfire, to gratify their Folly;
That they might Revel to their Shame,
Like sporting Insects round the Flame;
And bid Defiance to the Law,
That does the Sword of Justice draw;
By doing such Abominations,
Before the Lawyers Habitations;
So hardy Rogues to shew their Fellows,
How little they regard the Gallows;
Make fatal Tyburn but their Scoff,
And Rob sometimes in sight thereof.

By that time they had brought enough,
Of the Old Holy Housholdstuff;

T'express their Gladness in a Blaze,
For these our happy Halcyon days;
And that a second Fire might shew,
Their Dogstar-Zeal still the hotter grew;
The Court appris'd of all the Pains,
They'd taken, for no Thanks or Gains;
Order'd the Guards with speed to Run,
And pay 'em for the Work they'd done;
Lest in the height of their Destraction,
They should attempt some Nobler Action,
And seize the Bank for Satisfaction.

For tho' the Rabble mean no hurt,
And only play the Rogue for sport;
Untile a Meeting or a House,
As Monkeys will when broken loose;
And not thro' Malice, but for Pleasure,
Do such unlucky Tricks as these are;
Yet the Dev'ls Children oft, 'tis fear'd,
Steal in among the Harmless Herd;
And lead the thoughtless Tools sometimes;
To perpetrate most scurvy Crimes;

Such that are shameful and unfitting,
For a true Mob of ancient Britain;
Who in past Ages us'd to be,
The Guard of English Liberty;
And would not stir against the Laws,
Except 'twas in a Pious Cause;
Such that our Holy Brethren hold,
And stand by, to be Good and Old,
Which has so oft involv'd the Nation,
In sad Domestick Tribulation;
A Cause so Righteous and Transcending,
That 'tis well worth the Saints defending.

But the stanch Mob who heretofore,
Were us'd to cry down Popish Pow'r;
Run headlong now beyond their Tedder,
As if the Devil was their Leader;
So those who in their Godly Labours,
Shew more Religion than their Neighbours;
Ne'er Bicker, Murmur or Repine,
But with a Pious good Design;

Yet when Old Sathan that sly Wolf,
Ascends from his infernal Gulf;
And does without suspicion creep,
Among the Over-righteous Sheep;
He sooths them oft by seeming Friendships,
To Sins that misbecome their Saintships.

The Guards, each mounted for the Fray,
Like George that did the Dragon slay;
On Bobtail Prancer, fat and plump,
Dock'd close unto his Sturdy Rump;
With shining Whinyard now advanc'd,
From Whitehall, to the City pranc'd;
In search of those who had transgress'd
The Law, and ought to be suppress'd;
For he that does delight to see,
The Mob exert their Tyranny;
Deserves by way of Fellowfeeling,
To have the Rabble sack his Dwelling.

The Guards by watchful Spies and Scouts,
Being told by this time whereabouts

The Buisy Rout were now imploying,
Their Hands in Thieving and Destroying;
Suppress'd the Brutes in sev'ral places,
With loaded Backs and sweating Faces;
And in the Borders where they found 'em,
So guarded the Avenues round 'em,
That when they saw themselves betray'd,
Some Skulk'd, and others scour'd like mad;
Some threw their Burthens down much frighted,
And cry'd Peccavi, and submitted;
Some fled like Debtors scar'd by Baliffs,
In quest of bie ungarded Allies;
Whilst others dodg'd among the Horse,
And stood a pritty shifting Course;
Till a flat stroak upon the Crown,
Or cut of Broad-sword fetch'd 'em down;
Some Cowards quite confounded stood,
And Mercy, Mercy bawl'd aloud;
Whilst others trembling in the Fray,
Beneath the Horses Bellies lay;
Like the Poor Dragon that we Paint,
Born down by th' Capadocian Saint;

Some Crafty Zealots cut and wheadl'd,
And lying vow'd they never meddl'd;
That they were only Lookers on,
And humbly beg'd they might be gone;
Whilst others by their Sweaty Looks,
Driping like buisy Dog Day Cooks;
And by their Hands with Dirt made filthy,
Appear'd beyond Objection Guilty.

Thus some escaped and sav'd their Bacon,
Whilst others in the Fact were taken
In Rowling up Blackfryar's Hill,
A Pulpit tow'rds the Flaming Pile;
As if the Sacred Hut from whence,
The Teacher did such Truths dispense,
Was no more vallu'd by the Mob,
Than if 't'ad really been a Tub;
So Rebels when they've storm'd a Town,
They make Church Riches all their own;
For when they've Pow'r, they're too invidious,
To think what's gainful Sacraligious.

Others were catch'd with Heavy Packs,
Of Pews they'd pillag'd, on their Backs;
As if they thought to steal and feed
The Fire, a Meritorious Deed;
So those that do at Skittles play,
Will take more Pains to lose and pay,
Than at their Labour for Reward,
Altho' it is not half so hard;
And all the Reason they have for't;
One they call Work, the other Sport;
Thus the most buisy Knaves they seiz'd,
And the less Guilty Fools dismiss'd;
That those who most deserv'd the Blame,
Might punish'd be with Publick Shame;
And those unthinking Slaves go free,
Drawn in by meer Curiosity;
For he that with a Base intent,
Begins those Ills he should prevent;
Is far more culpable than he,
Wh' offends thro' meer Conformity;

Or Madman like, at random sins,
Without first knowing what he means.

Thus Captain Tom and his Adherents,
Were by the Guards at one Appearance,
Frighted from farther Perseverance;
For those who did in Triumph Roar,
And act such Ills but Just before;
Were to their safty now inclin'd,
And fled like Chaff before the Wind;
For tho' the Rabble are as fierce,
Whilst un-oppos'd as Wolves and Bears;
Yet when a Lawful Force draws near,
It turns their Brutish Rage to Fear.

The Guards thus having soon supprest,
This monstrous many Headed Beast;
And scar'd them back to stinking Allies,
From whence at first they made their Sallies;
Return'd and left the Streets as quiet,
As if there had been no such Riot;

Whilst those Justitiary Tools,
Old Headboroughs and Constables;
To Neighb'ring Prisons lead away,
Th' Offenders taken in the Fray;
Treating the Tatter'd Rakes and Clowns,
With scornful Pulls, and Haughty Frowns;
As if the Moody Slaves had been,
Beneath the Dignity of Men.
So when successless Victims yield,
To their proud Victors in the Field;
Each Conqueror looks sternly Brave,
On his dejected Captive Slave;
Whose Courage vanishes when crost
By Fortune, and his Hopes are lost.