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         E. P.
      
       
         
           1683
        
      
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             The revels; or A satyr against temple-ryots
             E. P.
          
           [4], 12 p.
           
             printed for I.G.,
             Lonndo [sic] :
             1683.
          
           
             "To the benchers" signed: E.P.
             In verse.
             Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library, Oxford.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Gambling -- England -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Inns of court -- Humor -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
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           THE
           REVELS
           ;
           OR
           A
           SATYR
           AGAINST
           Temple-Ryots
           .
        
         
           
             Mundus
             in
             exitium
             ruit
             .
          
        
         
           LONNDO
           ,
           Printed
           for
           
             I.
             G.
          
           1683.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           TO
           THE
           BENCHERS
           .
        
         
           
             Gentlemen
             ,
          
        
         
           IT
           must
           be
           confessed
           that
           we
           are
           fallen
           into
           the
           Dregs
           of
           Time
           ,
           wherein
           Atheism
           and
           Profaness
           not
           only
           abound
           ,
           but
           strive
           which
           should
           have
           the
           preheminence
           ,
           which
           sufficiently
           appears
           by
           the
           late
           Transactions
           of
           some
           about
           you
           ;
           however
           't
           is
           thought
           no
           way
           impertinent
           to
           Apologize
           for
           the
           ensuing
           Poem
           ,
           which
           does
           not
           (
           though
           it
           may
           be
           thought
           to
           )
           reflect
           on
           any
           of
           the
           Grave
           and
           
             serious
             Gentlemen
          
           (
           who
           are
           no
           less
           Eminent
           in
           the
           Abhorrence
           of
           such
           actions
           ,
           
           then
           in
           the
           Law
           )
           which
           at
           present
           possess
           the
           
             Honourable
             Bench
          
           ,
           but
           merely
           on
           those
           hot-spurs
           who
           think
           Loyalty
           consists
           in
           being
           
             Eminently
             wicked
          
           ,
           that
           think
           to
           regain
           the
           lost
           part
           of
           their
           Patrimony
           by
           sending
           the
           rest
           after
           ,
           and
           that
           think
           the
           Law
           to
           be
           Honoured
           by
           such
           
             unlawful
             actions
          
           of
           its
           Pretenders
           ;
           And
           whether
           such
           Proceedings
           merit
           not
           such
           reproofs
           ,
           is
           left
           to
           your
           
             serious
             Consideratin
          
           by
           him
           who
           is
        
         
           
             An
             Admirer
             of
             Your
             Honourable
             Society
             .
             E.
             P.
             
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           THE
           REVELS
           ;
           OR
           A
           SATYR
           Against
           Temple-Ryots
           .
        
         
           
             HEav'ns
             !
             What
             an
             Age
             is
             this
             ?
             what
             blushless
             times
             ?
          
           
             When
             we
             can
             smile
             and
             make
             a
             sport
             of
             crimes
             ;
          
           
             When
             by
             a
             Bloody-Flux
             of
             Oaths
             we
             sin
             ,
          
           
             And
             when
             begun
             we
             ever
             do
             begin
             ;
          
           
             And
             never
             end
             ;
             Is
             
               Natures
               Cours
            
             dissolv'd
             ?
          
           
             Or
             is
             the
             Basis
             of
             the
             Earth
             revolv'd
          
           
             Into
             it's
             
               Pristine
               Chaos
            
             ?
             When
             for
             Joys
             ,
          
           
             That
             solid
             are
             ,
             we
             grasp
             at
             empty
             Toys
             ;
          
           
           
             And
             barter
             sense
             for
             Nonsense
             ;
             Gold
             ,
             for
             Dross
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             a
             
               Loss-ful
               Gain
            
             by
             Gainful
             loss
             :
          
           
             Well
             did
             the
             Poets
             in
             their
             works
             presage
             ,
          
           
             An
             Iron
             ,
             to
             succeed
             the
             Golden
             ,
             Age
             ,
          
           
             Well
             did
             they
             tell
             us
             that
             Astrea
             left
          
           
             The
             treacherous
             Earth
             ;
             for
             that
             is
             now
             bereft
          
           
             Of
             all
             things
             that
             are
             Honest
             ,
             Good
             and
             Just
             ,
          
           
             Who
             flew
             with
             her
             from
             this
             defiled
             dust
             ;
          
           
             Gon
             are
             those
             
               Golden
               Days
            
             ,
             I
             say
             ,
             wherein
          
           
             Fraud
             and
             such
             Villanies
             could
             ne
             re
             be
             seen
             :
          
           
             When
             
               Suppliant
               pris'ners
            
             did
             not
             shake
             to
             see
          
           
             Their
             
               Angry
               Judge
            
             ;
             all
             things
             secure
             and
             free
             ;
          
           
             Poor
             Clients
             did
             not
             then
             attend
             the
             Gate
          
           
             Of
             their
             ne're-satisfied-Advocate
             :
          
           
             These
             days
             are
             vanish'd
             and
             our
             
               Modern
               times
            
             ,
          
           
             Have
             nothing
             else
             but
             New-invented
             Crimes
             :
          
        
         
           
             Draw
             neer
             ye
             Stoicks
             ,
             
               you
               whose
            
             Marble
             Eyes
          
           
             Can
             never
             melt
             ;
             whose
             
               graver
               Souls
            
             despise
          
           
             A
             Wrincle
             ,
             come
             and
             burst
             your
             selvs
             to
             see
          
           
             Th'
             Abstract
             of
             Folly
             and
             Impiety
             .
          
           
             A
             Vanity
             which
             they
             of
             Old
             ne're
             knew
             ,
          
           
             Which
             is
             as
             strange
             t'
             Imagin
             as
             't
             is
             true
             .
          
           
             A
             Vanity
             which
             has
             created
             more
          
           
             Adorers
             ,
             than
             was
             e're
             heard
             of
             before
             .
          
           
           
             Come
             and
             see
             how
             by
             Cheats
             they
             wealth
             acquire
             ,
          
           
             (
             The
             Grave
             is
             sooner
             cloy'd
             than
             their
             desire
             ▪
             )
          
           
             Walk
             but
             into
             their
             Hall
             and
             you
             shall
             see
          
           
             (
             If
             I
             mistake
             not
             )
             
               Hells
               Epitomy
            
             .
          
           
             One
             that
             was
             just
             now
             drench'd
             in
             
               Dana's
               shower
            
             ,
          
           
             Has
             neither
             Gold
             not
             trust
             within
             his
             power
             .
          
           
             Here
             stands
             a
             man
             that
             spends
             his
             
               Mid-Day
               Sweat
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               Mid-Night
               Oyl
            
             in
             studying
             how
             to
             Cheat
             ;
          
           
             And
             if
             it
             prove
             not
             to
             his
             wish'd
             desire
             ,
          
           
             
               God
               damn
            
             the
             Dice
             I
             'le
             throw
             them
             in
             the
             Fire
             .
          
           
             
               Give
               me
               more
               Dice
            
             ,
             if
             those
             do
             not
             suffice
          
           
             To
             win
             ,
             he
             'l
             Seal
             it
             with
             his
             Oaths
             and
             Lyes
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               if
               deny'd
            
             Meet
             me
             to
             morrow
             Sir
             ,
          
           
             Then
             follows
             ,
             but
             be
             sure
             he
             'l
             never
             stir
          
           
             From
             his
             
               Inchanted
               Castle
            
             ,
             to
             be
             made
             ,
          
           
             A
             Victim
             to
             be
             sent
             to
             th'
             
               Insernal
               shade
            
             .
          
           
             Go
             but
             within
             and
             see
             the
             Guineys
             fly
          
           
             And
             Dice
             ,
             for
             these
             run
             Low
             and
             those
             too
             High.
          
           
             A
             voice
             from
             Hell
             then
             forthwith
             comes
             ,
             ,
             
               here
               here
            
             ,
          
           
             Vsher
             come
             hither
             ,
             Vsher
             now
             Draw
             near
             ,
          
           
             
               God
               Damn
               the
               Dog
            
             for
             he
             does
             not
             appear
             .
          
           
             See
             how
             they
             labour
             with
             their
             Stygian
             crys
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             they
             were
             resolv'd
             to
             storm
             the
             Skys
             .
          
           
           
             With
             New-invented-Oaths
             ;
             and
             spend
             their
             Night
          
           
             In
             Cheats
             ▪
             which
             they
             account
             their
             sole
             delight
             .
          
           
             If
             well
             accomplish'd
             ;
             and
             for
             Joy
             they
             screw
          
           
             Themselvs
             in
             Shapes
             ,
             which
             Proteus
             never
             knew
             .
          
           
             Go
             but
             into
             another
             Room
             you
             'l
             say
             ,
          
           
             Size-Ace
             is
             that
             which
             carries
             all
             away
             :
          
           
             
               And
               being
               enter'd
            
             ,
             Masters
             will
             you
             play
             ?
          
           
             Is
             the
             Infernal
             cry
             ;
             
               I
               want
               but
               one
            
          
           
             Will
             then
             accost
             you
             ;
             
               Master
               pray
               sit
               down
            
             ?
          
           
             These
             are
             the
             Pastimes
             which
             with
             such
             delight
          
           
             Are
             grasp'd
             ,
             which
             now
             take
             up
             their
             day
             and
             Night
             .
          
           
             These
             are
             the
             Joys
             which
             are
             so
             much
             admir'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             are
             by
             all
             (
             though
             none
             but
             Fools
             )
             desir'd
             .
          
           
             Now
             let
             us
             go
             and
             take
             a
             Turn
             or
             two
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             a
             while
             leave
             this
             
               Infernal
               crew
            
          
           
             To
             their
             indeared
             Pastimes
             ,
             and
             go
             see
          
           
             With
             much
             disdain
             another
             Company
             .
          
           
             A
             Company
             that
             Fortune
             would
             not
             aid
             ,
          
           
             Who
             for
             their
             folly
             have
             severely
             paid
             .
          
           
             Who
             made
             their
             brags
             but
             now
             ,
             and
             will
             to
             Morrow
             ,
          
           
             Be
             forc'd
             to
             Beg
             or
             Steal
             ,
             at
             least
             to
             borrow
             .
          
        
         
           
             Have
             you
             not
             seen
             the
             Rose
             hang
             down
             '
             its
             Head
             ,
          
           
             When
             the
             bright
             Beams
             of
             th'
             Glorious
             
               Sun
               are
            
             fled
             ,
          
           
             Just
             so
             they
             look
             as
             if
             they
             were
             struck
             Dead
             .
          
           
           
             Thus
             having
             lost
             their
             Coyn
             and
             Reason
             too
          
           
             (
             And
             in
             this
             strait
             knowing
             not
             what
             to
             do
             )
          
           
             With
             their
             Poor
             Omnia
             to
             the
             
               Brokers
               go
            
             ,
          
           
             Others
             that
             ne're
             before
             perhaps
             could
             see
          
           
             A
             Penny
             ,
             now
             to
             their
             Old
             Trade
             must
             fly
          
           
             Of
             
               Pocket
               Picking
            
             and
             of
             Thiefery
             .
          
           
             Others
             to
             be
             recruited
             now
             must
             go
          
           
             Unto
             their
             
               Masters
               Till
            
             which
             still
             doth
             flow
             .
          
           
             with
             Bags
             of
             Bullion
             that
             must
             satisfy
          
           
             Their
             craving
             Wants
             ;
             which
             they
             will
             re-supply
             .
          
           
             Thus
             being
             flush'd
             with
             new
             desire
             again
             ,
          
           
             They
             come
             in
             hopes
             now
             for
             to
             throw
             a
             Main
             .
          
           
             But
             oh
             !
             't
             is
             gone
             ,
             and
             that
             which
             they
             did
             borrow
             ,
          
           
             Ev'n
             now
             ,
             must
             be
             repaid
             by
             th'
             next
             days
             Sorrow
             .
          
           
             Thus
             he
             is
             like
             
               Act
               on
            
             (
             who
             became
          
           
             To
             his
             own
             
               Cruel
               Dogs
            
             th'
             unhappy
             Game
             .
             )
          
           
             Poorer
             than
             Irus
             now
             you
             may
             him
             see
             ,
          
           
             And
             is
             become
             th'
             Abstract
             of
             Misery
             .
          
           
             Thus
             Game
             's
             a
             civil
             Gun-powder
             in
             peace
             ,
          
           
             Blowing
             up
             Houses
             with
             their
             whole
             increase
             .
          
        
         
           
             Now
             Marble-Stoick
             now
             approach
             in
             haste
             ,
          
           
             Relinquish
             laughter
             ,
             and
             now
             weep
             as
             fast
             .
          
           
             See
             how
             in
             Shoals
             they
             come
             whose
             noise
             appalls
             ,
          
           
             Much
             worse
             than
             twenty
             
               Irish
               Funerals
            
             .
          
           
           
             The
             hideous
             clamour
             of
             great
             Nilus
             fall
             ,
          
           
             If
             but
             to
             them
             compared
             ,
             is
             but
             small
             .
          
           
             See
             what
             Gil-Fortune
             hath
             prepar'd
             to
             be
          
           
             As
             a
             Reward
             for
             this
             
               Loose
               Company
            
          
           
             Who
             made
             their
             whole
             Estate
             a
             Lottery
             .
          
           
             A
             
               Lavish
               Banquet
            
             she
             doth
             now
             prepare
          
        
         
           
             For
             the
             
               dejected
               Losers
            
             )
             with
             much
             care
             .
          
           
             Knowing
             that
             
               Hungry
               Stomacks
            
             do
             ensue
          
           
             An
             
               Empty
               Pocket
            
             ,
             which
             has
             miss'd
             but
             few
             .
          
           
             The
             Table
             's
             spread
             ,
             groans
             with
             Varieties
          
           
             Which
             do
             the
             most
             
               Luxurious
               Palate
            
             please
             .
          
           
             To
             Crown
             with
             full
             content
             the
             Appetite
          
           
             Nothing
             is
             wanting
             ,
             that
             creates
             delight
             .
          
           
             The
             
               Studied
               Dishes
            
             which
             do
             re-supply
          
           
             Each
             vacancy
             ,
             do
             so
             invite
             the
             Eye
             ,
          
           
             That
             only
             with
             the
             sight
             't
             will
             satisfy
             .
          
           
             Bacchus
             in
             
               burnish'd
               Gold
            
             doth
             now
             go
             round
             ,
          
           
             And
             Musick
             with
             a
             well-digested
             sound
          
           
             Doth
             pierce
             the
             willing
             Air
             ,
             in
             sweet
             contention
             ,
          
           
             Raping
             the
             willing
             Ears
             into
             Attention
             .
          
           
             And
             since
             their
             Fortunes
             they
             cannot
             repair
          
           
             Camelion-like
             ,
             
               by
               this
            
             Harmonious
             Air
          
           
             They
             must
             subsist
             hereafter
             ,
             or
             despair
             .
          
           
           
             Plunged
             in
             Pleasures
             they
             consume
             their
             Nights
          
           
             In
             Gaming
             ,
             and
             their
             Day
             in
             loose
             delights
             ,
          
           
             Resolv'd
             t'
             employ
             each
             Minute
             of
             their
             time
          
           
             In
             that
             which
             has
             th'
             appearance
             of
             a
             Crime
             ,
          
           
             Oh
             times
             !
             Oh
             Manners
             !
             which
             Antiquity
          
           
             In
             all
             its
             periods
             ne're
             the
             like
             could
             see
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             will
             Posterity
             believe
             that
             e're
             ,
          
           
             Such
             
               lavish
               Actions
            
             perpetrated
             were
             :
          
           
             This
             Age
             resolves
             to
             seek
             out
             nothing
             less
          
           
             Than
             th'
             very
             Quintessence
             of
             Wickedness
             ,
          
           
             Fearing
             to
             come
             behind
             the
             Age
             before
          
           
             In
             Villanies
             ,
             she
             now
             inventeth
             more
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             applause
             she
             acts
             them
             o're
             and
             o're
             .
          
           
             Thus
             Fortune
             having
             with
             contentment
             fed
          
           
             Her
             
               Needy
               Slaves
            
             ,
             and
             Phaebus
             being
             fled
          
           
             With
             his
             Refulgent
             Rays
             far
             from
             our
             sight
             ,
          
           
             They
             are
             incompass'd
             by
             the
             sable
             Night
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Morpheus
             seeing
             ,
             in
             great
             hast
             he
             came
             ,
          
           
             And
             thus
             accosts
             them
             ;
             "
             Oh
             ye
             Sons
             of
             Fame
          
           
             
               "
               Appollo's
               Fiery
               Steeds
            
             are
             gone
             away
          
           
             "
             And
             quite
             withdrawn
             ,
             to
             give
             a
             Noon
             of
             Day
          
           
             "
             Unto
             th'
             Antipodes
             ,
             the
             sable
             Night
          
           
             "
             Is
             now
             approach'd
             ,
             and
             Day
             hath
             took
             its
             flight
             .
          
           
           
             "
             Then
             let
             our
             Vows
             at
             
               Morpheus
               Shrine
            
             be
             paid
             ,
          
           
             "
             And
             be
             ye
             not
             Eternal
             Vassals
             made
          
           
             "
             To
             
               Bacchanalian
               Revels
            
             ,
             but
             begin
          
           
             "
             To
             make
             an
             end
             ;
             Is
             this
             a
             time
             to
             win
             ?
          
           
             "
             Adjourn
             until
             Aurora
             shall
             display
          
           
             "
             Her
             Rosie
             Cheeks
             ;
             then
             re-assume
             our
             Play.
          
           
             "
             Bid
             now
             farewell
             unto
             your
             sweet
             delights
             :
          
           
             "
             Let
             them
             end
             with
             the
             Days
             ,
             let
             not
             the
             Nights
          
           
             "
             In
             them
             be
             spent
             ;
             but
             take
             your
             soft
             reposes
             ;
          
           
             "
             And
             lay
             your
             weary
             Heads
             on
             Beds
             of
             Roses
             :
          
           
             "
             See
             how
             the
             Tapers
             do
             consume
             away
          
           
             "
             Unwillingly
             ;
             as
             if
             resolv'd
             to
             stay
          
           
             "
             Their
             Exit
             ,
             till
             they
             see
             you
             all
             give
             o're
          
           
             "
             Before
             you
             lose
             your
             small-remaining
             store
             .
          
           
             "
             Dissolve
             your selves
             ,
             depart
             ,
             for
             shame
             retire
             :
          
           
             "
             These
             restless
             actions
             pleasing
             Rest
             require
             .
          
           
             "
             The
             weary
             Traveller
             now
             dispossess'd
          
           
             "
             Of
             his
             great
             labours
             ,
             doth
             desire
             rest
             ,
          
           
             "
             Which
             so
             alleviates
             his
             dejected
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             "
             That
             of
             his
             pains
             a
             present
             cure
             doth
             find
             .
          
           
             "
             By
             this
             ,
             the
             Student
             is
             refresh'd
             from
             Pain
             ,
          
           
             "
             And
             comes
             with
             greater
             vigour
             to
             't
             again
             .
          
           
             "
             In
             short
             ;
             all
             
               Brutish
               Animals
            
             are
             made
          
           
             "
             More
             fit
             for
             use
             ,
             when
             this
             great
             Debt
             is
             paid
             ,
          
           
           
             "
             Then
             dis-ingage
             your selves
             ,
             and
             take
             your
             flight
             :
          
           
             "
             Prorogue
             our
             pleasures
             ,
             and
             enjoy
             the
             night
             ,
          
           
             "
             In
             her
             sweet
             Slumbers
             ,
             and
             in
             them
             delight
             .
          
           
             This
             said
             ,
             he
             in
             great
             haste
             ascends
             the
             Skies
             ,
          
           
             And
             unto
             the
             
               Coelestial
               Mansions
            
             flies
             .
          
           
             But
             hark
             !
             no
             sooner
             had
             the
             God
             giv'n
             o're
          
           
             His
             Admonitions
             ,
             but
             they
             
               (
               as
               before
            
             )
          
           
             To
             their
             affected
             Pastimes
             do
             retire
             ,
          
           
             And
             do
             no
             other
             happiness
             desire
             .
          
           
             Thus
             do
             they
             prosecute
             a
             Vanity
          
           
             Which
             would
             create
             a
             Blush
             i'
             th'
             Sun
             ,
             to
             see
          
           
             That
             those
             
               wild
               Hero's
            
             now
             should
             take
             delight
          
           
             Quite
             from
             the
             Wing
             of
             all
             their
             
               Fathers
               flight
            
             :
          
           
             Ah!
             Albion
             how
             miserably
             curst
          
           
             Art
             thou
             ,
             from
             that
             bright
             lustre
             which
             at
             first
          
           
             Adorn'd
             thy
             Land
             ,
             adorn'd
             thy
             Corners
             round
             ,
          
           
             Which
             cannot
             Now
             ,
             nor
             Ever
             will
             be
             found
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             hold
             !
             my
             Muse
             affrighted
             stands
             to
             see
          
           
             Of
             Turks
             and
             Tartars
             a
             grim
             Company
             ;
          
           
             All
             in
             their
             proper
             Habits
             ,
             that
             you
             'l
             swear
          
           
             They
             not
             Effigies
             be
             ,
             but
             Real
             are
             .
          
           
             Here
             's
             Sir
             and
             Madam
             so
             well
             joyn'd
             together
             ,
          
           
             That
             the
             most
             piercing
             Eye
             cannot
             tell
             whether
             ▪
          
           
           
             Of
             them
             to
             chuse
             ,
             here
             's
             
               Madam
               —
               Captain
            
             too
          
           
             Link'd
             with
             an
             
               English-Hogen
               ▪
               Mogen
               Fro
            
             ;
          
           
             Next
             come
             of
             
               Rural
               Swains
            
             ,
             a
             splendid
             Train
             ,
          
           
             Who
             with
             their
             Daphnae's
             ,
             trip
             it
             o're
             the
             Plain
             :
          
           
             Averse
             to
             all
             that
             's
             Ill
             ,
             they
             do
             appear
          
           
             As
             Innocent
             ,
             as
             their
             white
             Garments
             are
             :
          
           
             Heav'ns
             !
             what
             is
             this
             that
             to
             my
             wand'ring
             Eye
          
           
             Doth
             next
             appear
             ,
             what
             is
             't
             that
             I
             descry
             ?
          
           
             My
             feeble
             Pen
             amazed
             is
             to
             tell
             :
          
           
             Is
             it
             a
             Messenger
             new
             come
             from
             Hell
             ?
          
           
             No
             sure
             ;
             it
             wears
             a
             Gown
             ,
             and
             you
             may
             see
          
           
             (
             Oh
             Horrour
             !
             )
             that
             it
             is
             Divinity
             :
          
           
             Divinity
             !
             methinks
             the
             Hills
             should
             turn
             ,
          
           
             To
             Vallies
             sooner
             ;
             and
             the
             Water
             burn
          
           
             Than
             that
             Divinity
             should
             there
             be
             seen
          
           
             Who
             in
             such
             Temples
             never
             yet
             had
             been
             :
          
           
             Oh
             Impious
             Age
             !
             devoted
             unto
             Ill
             ,
          
           
             Void
             of
             all
             good
             ,
             and
             is
             resolved
             still
          
           
             To
             persevere
             ;
             when
             wilt
             thou
             take
             thy
             fill
             ?
          
           
             Methinks
             it
             would
             have
             been
             a
             crime
             much
             less
          
           
             If
             that
             he
             had
             been
             cloak'd
             ;
             the
             only
             dress
          
           
             That
             is
             a
             scandal
             unto
             Holiness
             :
          
           
             A
             Salamanca-Doctor
             would
             have
             done
          
           
             Who
             doth
             pretend
             to
             both
             and
             yet
             hath
             none
             ;
          
           
           
             Or
             else
             some
             Quaking
             Naylor
             in
             his
             Band
          
           
             Who
             doth
             the
             Holy-Sister-hood
             command
             .
          
           
             With
             his
             light
             Spirit
             and
             his
             groping
             Hand
             :
          
           
             In
             fine
             ,
             the
             white-Black
             Moors
             lead
             up
             the
             Rear
             ,
          
           
             Who
             lively
             Representatives
             appear
             .
          
           
             These
             ,
             though
             in
             different
             manner
             ,
             all
             agree
          
           
             At
             once
             ,
             to
             grace
             this
             Graceless
             Company
             ;
          
           
             That
             onely
             do
             excel
             in
             villany
             .
          
           
             O
             sacred
             Powers
             (
             if
             facred
             Powers
             there
             be
          
           
             That
             with
             Assistance
             honour
             Poesie
             )
          
           
             Assist
             my
             trembling
             and
             unable
             Pen
          
           
             T'
             Anatomize
             the
             Deeds
             of
             worse
             then
             men
             ;
          
           
             Whose
             
               Shameless
               Actions
            
             now
             might
             shame
             the
             Devil
          
           
             That
             scorn
             not
             to
             be
             thought
             the
             sum
             of
             evil
             .
          
           
             Did
             Nero
             now
             survive
             ,
             no
             doubt
             but
             he
             ,
          
           
             Would
             stand
             Intrans'd
             with
             wonder
             ,
             for
             to
             see
          
           
             Such
             Actions
             perpetrated
             o're
             and
             o're
             ,
          
           
             Which
             neither
             he
             ,
             nor
             any
             saw
             before
             :
          
           
             And
             would
             repent
             ,
             desiring
             (
             though
             in
             vain
             )
          
           
             His
             long-lost-Ashes
             to
             assume
             again
             ,
          
           
             That
             he
             might
             be
             Comptroller
             of
             them
             all
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Joy
             for
             Romes
             destruction
             was
             but
             small
          
           
             To
             this
             ,
             or
             yet
             his
             Mothers
             cruel
             fall
             :
          
           
           
             If
             ever
             Transmigration
             could
             be
             true
          
           
             'T
             is
             now
             ,
             't
             is
             now
             ,
             for
             here
             at
             once
             you
             view
          
           
             The
             Villanies
             that
             ever
             yet
             had
             been
          
           
             Transacted
             ,
             which
             no
             Age
             the
             like
             has
             seen
             .
          
           
             Is
             money
             wanting
             to
             proceed
             ?
             you
             'l
             see
             ,
          
           
             
               Viïs
               &
               modis
            
             't
             will
             acquired
             be
             .
          
           
             Is
             all
             their
             small
             remaining
             Stock
             but
             spent
             ?
          
           
             Forthwith
             (
             t'
             acquire
             more
             )
             a
             Parliament
          
           
             Convened
             is
             ,
             where
             't
             is
             Resolv'd
             a
             Lord
          
           
             Should
             then
             be
             Dubb'd
             and
             be
             by
             all
             ador'd
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             done
             ,
             't
             is
             done
             ,
             see
             how
             his
             slaves
             like
             Apes
          
           
             Do
             screw
             their
             Bodies
             in
             a
             thousand
             shapes
             .
          
           
             Come
             next
             and
             see
             how
             they
             advance
             with
             hope
          
           
             In
             Riches
             to
             transcend
             the
             Mighty
             Pope
          
           
             Whose
             
               Quantum
               meruit
            
             is
             a
             Golden
             Rope
             .
          
           
             'T
             is
             strange
             to
             think
             (
             yet
             not
             so
             ▪
             strange
             as
             true
             )
          
           
             That
             among
             so
             great
             numbers
             such
             a
             few
          
           
             Should
             honest
             prove
             ,
             for
             yet
             we
             Dayly
             find
             ,
          
           
             Knaves
             are
             the
             greatest
             part
             of
             all
             Mankind
             .
          
           
             And
             where
             should
             Lewd
             and
             Idle
             Persons
             come
             ,
          
           
             But
             to
             those
             places
             that
             afford
             them
             room
             .
          
           
             I
             've
             done
             ,
             but
             must
             all
             honest
             Men
             advise
             ,
          
           
             Not
             to
             approach
             the
             place
             of
             so
             much
             Vice.
             
          
        
      
       
         FINIS
         .
      
    
     
  

