







 
   
     
       
         The second part of the collection of poems on affairs of state ... by A ̲̲̲̲Ml̲̲̲̲, Esq.
         Collection of poems on affairs of state. Part 2.
      
       
         
           1689
        
      
       Approx. 54 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 17 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images.
       
         Text Creation Partnership,
         Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :
         2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).
         A58997
         Wing S2302
         ESTC R10478
         11907260
         ocm 11907260
         50744
         
           
            This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A58997)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 50744)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 511:23)
      
       
         
           
             The second part of the collection of poems on affairs of state ... by A ̲̲̲̲Ml̲̲̲̲, Esq.
             Collection of poems on affairs of state. Part 2.
             Marvell, Andrew, 1621-1678.
          
           [2], 30 p.
           
             [s.n.],
             London :
             1689.
          
           
             Caption title: A dialogue between two horses.
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.
         Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors.
      
       
         EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.
         EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).
         The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.
         Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.
         Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.
         Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.
         The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.
         Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).
         
          Keying and markup guidelines are available at the
           Text Creation Partnership web site
          .
        
      
       
         
         
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Political poetry, English.
           Political satire, English.
           Great Britain -- History -- Restoration, 1660-1688 -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
        2002-05 TCP
        Assigned for keying and markup
      
        2002-06 SPi Global
        Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images
      
        2002-07 Mona Logarbo
        Sampled and proofread
      
        2002-07 Mona Logarbo
        Text and markup reviewed and edited
      
        2002-08 pfs
        Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
      
    
  
   
     
       
         
         
         
           THE
           SECOND
           PART
           OF
           THE
           COLLECTION
           OF
           POEMS
           ON
           Affairs
           of
           State
           ,
           Viz.
           
        
         
           
             A
             Dialogue
             between
             two
             Horses
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             Lord
             Mayor
             and
             Court
             of
             Aldermen
             ,
             presenting
             the
             
               l
               —
               K
            
             —
             and
             the
             D
             —
             of
             Y
             —
             with
             a
             Copy
             of
             their
             Freedoms
             ,
             Anno
             1674.
             
          
           
             On
             the
             Prorogation
             of
             the
             Eighteen-years
             Parliament
             :
             Or
             ,
             Club
             of
             unanimous
             Voters
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             Dissolution
             of
             the
             Club
             of
             Voters
             ,
             Anno
             1678.
             
          
           
             On
             the
             Lord
             Chancellor's
             Speech
             to
             the
             Parliament
             ,
             March
             1680.
             
          
           
             An
             Acrostick
             .
          
           
             The
             Commons
             Address
             to
             the
             K
             —
             .
          
           
             The
             Answer
             to
             the
             Acrostick
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             D
             —
             of
             
               Y
               —
               s
            
             Voyage
             into
             Flanders
             .
          
           
             Upon
             a
             Dispute
             in
             the
             Choice
             of
             Sheriffs
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             same
             Occasion
             .
          
           
             Forewarn'd
             ,
             Forearm'd
             .
          
           
             A
             Bill
             on
             the
             House
             of
             Commons
             Door
             ,
             April
             15.
             1680.
             pursuant
             to
             a
             former
             Bill
             ,
             Ian.
             26.
             1679.
             fixt
             there
             .
          
           
             On
             Nell
             .
          
           
             Justice
             in
             Masquerade
             .
          
           
             A
             Copy
             of
             Verses
             flung
             into
             Justice
             S
             —
             s's
             Chamber
             .
          
           
             The
             Pope's
             Advice
             ,
             with
             his
             Holiness's
             Benediction
             to
             his
             Judge
             and
             Jury
             in
             Vtopia
             .
          
           
             A
             Satyr
             .
          
           
             On
             the
             Monument
             upon
             Fishstreet-hill
             .
          
           
             The
             D
             —
             of
             
               M
               —
               s
            
             Letter
             to
             the
             K
             —
             Transvers'd
             .
          
           
             The
             Answer
             to
             the
             D
             —
             of
             M
             —
          
           
             Letter
             .
          
        
         
           By
           
             A
             —
             M
             —
             l
          
           and
           other
           eminent
           Wits
           .
           None
           whereof
           ever
           before
           Printed
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           in
           the
           Year
           ,
           1689.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           A
           DIALOGUE
           Between
           two
           HORSES
           .
        
         
           By
           
             A.
             M
             —
             l
          
           ,
           
             Esq
             
          
           .
        
         
           
             The
             Introduction
             .
          
           
             We
             read
             in
             profane
             and
             sacred
             Records
          
           
             Of
             Beasts
             ,
             that
             have
             utter'd
             
               Articular
               Words
            
             ;
          
           
             When
             Magpies
             and
             Parrots
             cry
             ,
             
               Walk
               ,
               Knaves
               ,
               walk
            
             ,
          
           
             It
             is
             a
             clear
             Proof
             that
             Birds
             too
             may
             talk
             .
          
           
             And
             Statues
             without
             either
             Wind-pipes
             or
             Lungs
             ,
          
           
             Have
             spoken
             as
             plainly
             as
             Men
             do
             with
             Tongues
             :
          
           
             Livy
             tells
             a
             strange
             Story
             ,
             can
             hardly
             be
             fellowed
             ,
          
           
             That
             a
             sacrific'd
             Ox
             when
             his
             Guts
             were
             out
             ,
             bellow'd
             .
          
           
             Phalaris
             had
             a
             Bull
             ,
             which
             grave
             Authors
             tell
             you
             ,
          
           
             Would
             roar
             like
             a
             Devil
             with
             a
             Man
             in
             his
             Belly
             .
          
           
             
               Friar
               Bacon
            
             had
             a
             Head
             that
             spake
             ,
             made
             of
             Brass
             ;
          
           
             And
             Balaam
             the
             Prophet
             was
             reprov'd
             by
             his
             Ass.
          
           
             At
             Delphos
             and
             Rome
             ,
             Stocks
             and
             Stones
             ,
             now
             and
             then
             ,
             S●srs
             ,
          
           
             Have
             to
             Questions
             return'd
             Articular
             Answers
             .
          
           
             All
             Popish
             Believers
             think
             somethings
             Divine
             ,
          
           
             When
             Images
             speak
             ,
             possesseth
             the
             Shrine
             :
          
           
             But
             they
             that
             
               Faith
               Catholick
            
             ne'er
             understood
             ,
          
           
             When
             Shrines
             give
             Answer
             ,
             a
             Knaves
             on
             the
             Rood
             .
          
           
             Those
             Idols
             ne'er
             spoke
             ,
             but
             are
             Miracles
             done
          
           
             By
             the
             Devil
             ,
             a
             Priest
             ,
             a
             Friar
             and
             Nun.
          
           
             If
             the
             Roman
             Church
             ,
             good
             Christians
             ,
             oblige
             ye
          
           
             To
             believe
             Man
             and
             Beast
             have
             spoke
             in
             Effigie
             .
          
           
           
             Why
             should
             we
             not
             credit
             the
             publick
             Discourses
          
           
             Of
             a
             Dialogue
             ,
             lately
             between
             the
             two
             Horses
          
           
             The
             Horses
             I
             mean
             of
             Wool-Church
             and
             Charing
             ,
          
           
             Who
             told
             many
             Truths
             worth
             a
             Man's
             Hearing
             ,
          
           
             Since
             V
             —
             and
             O
             —
             did
             buy
             ,
             and
             provide
             'em
          
           
             For
             the
             two
             Mighty
             Monarchs
             that
             now
             do
             bestride
             '
             em
             .
          
           
             The
             stately
             br●ss
             Stallion
             ,
             and
             white
             marble
             Steed
          
           
             One
             Night
             came
             together
             by
             all
             is
             agreed
             :
          
           
             When
             both
             King
             's
             weary
             of
             Sitting
             all
             Day
             ,
          
           
             Were
             stollen
             off
             Incognito
             each
             his
             own
             way
             .
          
           
             And
             the
             two
             Jades
             after
             mutual
             Salute
             ,
          
           
             Not
             only
             discours'd
             ,
             but
             fell
             to
             Dispute
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dialogue
             .
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               Quoth
               the
               Marble
               Horse
               ,
               it
               would
               make
               a
               Stone
               speak
            
             
               To
               see
               a
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               and
               a
               Lumbard-street
               break
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Founder
               and
               mine
               to
               treat
               one
               another
               ,
            
             
               When
               both
               K
               —
               s
               agreed
               to
               be
               each
               others
               Brother
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Here
               Charing
               broke
               forth
               ,
               and
               then
               he
               went
               on
               ,
            
             
               My
               Brass
               is
               provoked
               as
               much
               as
               thy
               Stone●
            
             
               To
               see
               Church
               and
               State
               bow
               down
               to
               a
               Whore
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               K
               —
               's
               chief
               Minister
               holding
               th'
               Door
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               To
               see
               
                 Dei
                 Gratia
              
               writ
               on
               the
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               K
               —
               's
               wicked
               Life
               say
               ,
               God
               there
               is
               none
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               That
               he
               should
               be
               stil'd
               Defender
               of
               the
               Faith
               ,
            
             
               Who
               believes
               not
               a
               Word
               what
               the
               Word
               of
               God
               saith
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               That
               the
               D
               —
               should
               turn
               Papist
               ,
               and
               that
               Church
               defie
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               his
               own
               Father
               a
               Martyr
               did
               die
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Tho'
               he
               changed
               his
               Religion
               ,
               I
               hope
               he
               's
               so
               civi●
            
             
               Not
               to
               think
               his
               own
               Father
               is
               gone
               to
               the
               Devil
               .
            
             
               To
               see
               a
               white
               Staff
               make
               a
               Beggar
               a
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               And
               scarce
               a
               wise
               Man
               at
               a
               long
               Council-board
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               That
               the
               Bank
               should
               be
               seized
               ,
               yet
               the
               Chequer
               so
               poor
               ,
            
             
               
                 Lord
                 have
                 Mercy
              
               ,
               and
               a
               Cross
               might
               be
               set
               on
               the
               Door
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               That
               a
               Million
               and
               half
               should
               be
               the
               Revenue
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               the
               K
               —
               of
               his
               Debts
               pay
               no
               man
               a
               penny
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               That
               a
               K
               —
               should
               consume
               three
               Kingdom
               's
               Estates
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               all
               the
               Court
               be
               as
               poor
               as
               Church
               Rats
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               That
               of
               four
               Seas
               Dominion
               and
               Guarding
               ,
            
             
               No
               token
               should
               appear
               but
               a
               poor
               Copper
               Farthing
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               Our
               Worm-eaten
               Ships
               be
               laid
               up
               at
               Chatham
               ,
            
             
               (
               Not
               ou●
               Trade
               to
               secure
               ,
               but
               )
               for
               Fools
               to
               comeat'um
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               And
               our
               few
               Ships
               abroad
               become
               
               Tripoli's
               scorn
               ,
            
             
               By
               pawning
               for
               Victuals
               their
               Guns
               at
               Leghorn
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               That
               making
               us
               Slaves
               by
               Horse
               and
               Foot
               Guard
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               The
               basest
               ingratitude
               ever
               was
               heard
               ;
            
             
               But
               Tyrants
               ungrateful
               are
               always
               affraid
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               On
               Henry
               the
               Seventh's
               head
               ,
               he
               that
               plac'd
               the
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               Was
               after
               rewarded
               by
               losing
               his
               own
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               That
               Parliament-Men
               should
               rail
               at
               the
               Court
               ,
            
             
               And
               get
               a
               good
               Preferment
               immediately
               for
               't
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               To
               the
               bold
               speaking
               Members
               of
               Bastards
               you
               add
               ,
            
             
               What
               a
               number
               of
               Rascally-Lords
               have
               been
               made
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               That
               Traitors
               to
               their
               Country
               in
               a
               brib'd
               House
               of
               C.
            
             
               Should
               give
               away
               Millions
               at
               every
               Summons
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               Yet
               some
               of
               those
               Givers
               ,
               such
               beggarly
               Villains
               ,
            
             
               As
               not
               to
               be
               trusted
               for
               twice
               fifty
               Shillings
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               No
               wonder
               that
               Beggars
               should
               still
               be
               ●or
               giving
               ,
            
             
               Who
               out
               of
               what
               's
               given
               ,
               do
               get
               a
               good
               living●
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               Four
               Knights
               and
               a
               Knave
               ,
               who
               were
               Publicans
               made
               ,
            
             
               For
               selling
               their
               Consciences
               were
               liberally
               paid
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Then
               base
               are
               the
               Souls
               of
               the
               low
               priz'd
               Sinners
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Vote
               with
               the
               Court
               for
               Drink
               and
               for
               Dinners
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               they
               that
               brought
               on
               us
               this
               scandalous
               Yoke
               ,
            
             
               Of
               excising
               our
               Cups
               and
               Taxing
               our
               smoak
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               But
               Thanks
               to
               the
               Whores
               who
               made
               the
               K
               —
               dogged
               ,
            
             
               For
               giving
               no
               more
               the
               R
               —
               are
               Prorogued
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               That
               a
               K
               —
               should
               endeavour
               to
               make
               a
               War
               cease
               ,
            
             
               Which
               augments
               and
               secures
               his
               own
               profit
               and
               peace
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               And
               Ple●potentiaries
               send
               into
               Fra●ce
               ,
            
             
               With
               an
               addle-headed
               Knight
               ,
               and
               a
               Lord
               without
               Brains
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               That
               the
               King
               should
               send
               for
               another
               F
               —
               Whore
               ,
            
             
               When
               one
               already
               had
               made
               him
               so
               poor
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Enough
               dear
               Brother
               although
               we
               speak
               Reason
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               Truth
               many
               times
               being
               punish'd
               ●or
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               We
               ought
               to
               be
               wary
               ,
               and
               bridle
               our
               Tongues
               ,
            
             
               Bold
               speaking
               hath
               done
               both
               Men
               and
               Beasts
               wrongs
               :
            
             
             
               When
               the
               Ass
               so
               boldly
               rebuked
               the
               Prophet
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               knowest
               what
               danger
               was
               like
               to
               come
               of
               it
               ,
            
             
               Though
               the
               Beast
               gave
               his
               Master
               ne'er
               an
               ill
               Word
               ,
            
             
               Instead
               of
               a
               Cudgel
               Balaam
               wish'd
               for
               a
               Sword.
               
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               Truth
               's
               as
               bold
               as
               a
               Lion
               ,
               I
               am
               not
               affraid
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               prove
               every
               title
               of
               what
               I
               have
               said
               :
            
             
               Our
               Riders
               are
               absent
               who
               is
               't
               that
               can
               hear
               ;
            
             
               Let
               's
               be
               true
               to
               our selves
               ,
               who
               then
               need
               we
               fear
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Where
               is
               thy
               K
               —
               gone
               ,
               (
               Woolchurch
               )
               to
               see
               Bishop
               Laud
               ?
            
             
               To
               Cuckold
               a
               Scrivener
               in
               Masquerade
               ?
            
             
               On
               such
               Occasions
               he
               oft
               s●rays
               away
               ,
            
             
               And
               returns
               to
               remount
               about
               break
               of
               Day
               .
            
             
               In
               very
               dark
               Nights
               sometimes
               you
               may
               find
               him
            
             
               With
               a
               Harlot
               got
               upon
               my
               Crupper
               behind
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Paule
               ●rother
               a
               while
               ,
               and
               calmly
               consider
            
             
               What
               thou
               has●
               to
               say
               against
               my
               
                 Royal
                 Rider
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               The
               Priest-ridden
               K
               —
               turn'd
               desperate
               fighter
            
             
               For
               the
               
                 Surpli●e
                 ,
                 Lawn-sleeves
              
               ,
               the
               Cross
               and
               the
               Miter
               ,
            
             
               Till
               at
               last
               on
               a
               Scaffold
               he
               was
               left
               in
               the
               lurch
            
             
               By
               Knaves
               ,
               that
               cry'd
               up
               themselves
               for
               the
               Church
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Arch-Bishops
               and
               Bishops
               ,
               Arch-Deacons
               and
               Deans
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               K
               —
               will
               ne'er
               fight
               unless
               't
               be
               for
               Queans
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               He
               that
               dies
               for
               Ceremonies
               dies
               like
               a
               Fool.
               
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               The
               K
               —
               on
               thy
               Back
               is
               a
               lamentable
               Tool
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               The
               Goat
               and
               the
               Lyon
               ,
               I
               equally
               Hate
               ,
            
             
               And
               Freeman
               alike
               value
               Life
               and
               State
               :
            
             
               Though
               the
               Father
               and
               Son
               be
               different
               rods
               ,
            
             
               Between
               the
               two
               Scourgers
               we
               find
               little
               odds
               ;
            
             
               Both
               Infamous
               in
               three
               Kingdoms
               Votes
               ,
            
             
               This
               for
               picking
               our
               Pockets
               ,
               that
               for
               cutting
               our
               Throats
               :
            
             
               More
               tolerable
               are
               the
               Lyon
               K
               —
               s
               Slaughters
            
             
               Than
               the
               Goat
               making
               Whores
               of
               our
               Wives
               and
               Daughters
               :
            
             
               The
               Debauched
               and
               Cruel
               since
               they
               equally
               gall
               us
               ,
            
             
               I
               had
               rather
               bear
               Nero
               than
               Sardanapalus
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               
                 De
                 Wit
              
               and
               Cromwel
               had
               each
               a
               brave
               Soul
               ,
            
             
               I
               freely
               declare
               it
               ,
               I
               am
               for
               Old
               Nol
               ,
            
             
               Though
               his
               Government
               did
               a
               Tyrant
               resemble
               ,
            
             
               He
               made
               England
               great
               and
               his
               Enemies
               tremble
               .
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Rider
               puts
               no
               Man
               to
               Death
               in
               his
               Wrath
               ,
            
             
               But
               is
               buryed
               alive
               in
               Lust
               and
               in
               Sloth
               .
            
             
             
               Woolch.
               What
               is
               thy
               Opinion
               of
               I
               —
               D
               —
               of
               Y
               —
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               The
               s●me
               that
               the
               Frogs
               had
               of
               
               I●piter's
               Stonk
               .
            
             
               With
               the
               Turk
               on
               his
               Head
               ,
               and
               the
               Pope
               in
               his
               Heart
               ,
            
             
               F●ther
               
               Patrick's
               Disciples
               will
               make
               England
               smart
               .
            
             
               If
               e'er
               he
               be
               K
               —
               I
               know
               
               Britain's
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               We
               must
               all
               to
               a
               Stake
               ,
               or
               be
               Converts
               to
               Rome
               .
            
             
               Ah!
               Tudor
               ,
               ah
               !
               Tudor
               ,
               we
               have
               had
               enough
               :
            
             
               None
               ever
               reign'd
               like
               old
               Bess
               in
               the
               ●uff
               .
            
             
               Her
               W●lsingham
               could
               dark
               Counsels
               unriddle
               ,
            
             
               And
               our
               Sir
               
                 I
                 —
                 ph
              
               write
               News-books
               and
               fiddle
               .
            
          
           
             
               Woolch.
               
            
             
               Truth
               ,
               Brother
               ,
               well
               said
               ,
               but
               that
               's
               somewhat
               bitter
               ,
            
             
               Hi●
               pe●●umed
               Predecessor
               was
               never
               more
               fitter
               :
            
             
               Yet
               we
               have
               one
               Secretary
               honest
               and
               wise
               ;
            
             
               For
               that
               very
               Reason
               ,
               he
               's
               never
               to
               rise
               .
            
             
               But
               can'st
               thou
               devise
               when
               things
               will
               be
               mended
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Chair
               .
            
             
               When
               the
               bad
               of
               the
               Line
               of
               the
               St
               —
               are
               ended
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Conclusion
             .
          
           
             If
             Speeches
             from
             Animals
             in
             
             Rome's
             first
             Age
             ,
          
           
             Prodigious
             Events
             did
             s●rely
             presage
          
           
             That
             should
             come
             to
             pass
             ,
             all
             Men
             may
             swear
          
           
             That
             which
             two
             Inanimate
             Horses
             declare
             .
          
           
             But
             I
             should
             have
             told
             you
             before
             the
             Jades
             parted
             ,
          
           
             Both
             gallop'd
             to
             VVhite-hall
             ,
             and
             there
             humbly
             farted
             :
          
           
             Which
             Tyranny's
             down●al
             portended
             much
             mo●e
          
           
             Than
             all
             that
             the
             Beasts
             had
             spoken
             before
             .
          
           
             If
             the
             Delphick
             Sybil's
             Oracular
             Speeches
          
           
             (
             as
             learned
             Men
             say
             )
             came
             out
             of
             their
             Breeches
             ,
          
           
             Why
             might
             not
             our
             Horses
             ,
             since
             Words
             are
             but
             Wind
             ,
          
           
             Have
             the
             Spirit
             of
             Prophecy
             likewise
             behind
             ?
          
           
             Though
             Tyrants
             make
             Laws
             ,
             which
             they
             strictly
             proclaim
          
           
             To
             conceal
             their
             own
             Faults
             ,
             and
             cover
             their
             own
             Shame
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             the
             Beasts
             in
             the
             Field
             ,
             and
             the
             S●ones
             in
             the
             Wall
             ,
          
           
             Will
             publish
             their
             Faults
             and
             prophesy
             their
             Fall
             ;
          
           
             When
             they
             take
             from
             the
             People
             the
             Freedom
             of
             Words
             ,
          
           
             They
             teach
             them
             the
             sooner
             to
             fall
             to
             their
             Swords
             .
          
           
             Let
             the
             City
             drink
             Coffee
             ,
             and
             quietly
             groan
             ,
          
           
             (
             They
             that
             conquer'd
             the
             Fat●●r
             won't
             ●e
             Slaves
             to
             the
             Son
             )
          
           
           
             For
             Wine
             and
             strong
             Drink
             make
             Tumults
             encrease
             ,
          
           
             Chocolate
             ,
             Tea
             ,
             and
             Coffee
             are
             Liquors
             of
             Peace
             ,
          
           
             No
             Quarrel
             or
             Oaths
             amongst
             those
             that
             drink
             them
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             Bacchus
             ,
             and
             the
             Brewer
             swear
             dam
             me
             and
             sink
             '
             em
             .
          
           
             Then
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             thy
             Edict
             against
             Coffee
             recal
             ,
          
           
             There
             's
             ten
             times
             more
             Treason
             in
             Brandy
             and
             Ale.
             
          
        
      
       
         
           On
           the
           Lord
           Mayor
           and
           Court
           of
           Aldermen
           ,
           presenting
           the
           l
           —
           K
           —
           and
           D
           —
           of
           Y
           —
           each
           with
           a
           Copy
           of
           their
           Freedoms
           ,
           
             Anno
             Dom.
             1674.
          
           
        
         
           
             I.
             
          
           
             THe
             Londoners
             Gent
             to
             the
             K
             —
             do
             present
          
           
             In
             a
             Box
             the
             City
             Maggo●
             ;
          
           
             'T
             is
             a
             thing
             full
             of
             weight
             ,
             that
             requires
             the
             Might
          
           
             Of
             whole
             Guild-Hall
             Team
             to
             drag
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             II.
             
          
           
             Whilst
             their
             Church's
             unbuilt
             ,
             and
             their
             Houses
             undwelt
             ,
          
           
             And
             their
             Orphans
             want
             Bread
             to
             feed
             'em
             ;
          
           
             Themselves
             they
             've
             bereft
             of
             the
             little
             Wit
             they
             had
             left
             ,
          
           
             To
             make
             an
             Offering
             of
             their
             Freedom
             .
          
        
         
           
             III.
             
          
           
             O
             ye
             Addle-brain'd
             Cits
             !
             who
             henceforth
             in
             their
             Wits
          
           
             Would
             intrust
             their
             Youth
             to
             your
             breeding
             ;
          
           
             When
             in
             Diamonds
             and
             Gold
             you
             have
             him
             thus
             enroll'd
             ,
          
           
             You
             know
             both
             his
             Friends
             and
             his
             Breeding
             ?
          
        
         
           
             IV.
             
          
           
             Beyond
             Sea
             he
             began
             ,
             where
             such
             a
             Riot
             he
             ran
             ,
          
           
             That
             every
             one
             there
             did
             leave
             him
             ;
          
           
             And
             now
             he
             'll
             come
             o'er
             ten
             times
             worse
             than
             b●fore
             ,
          
           
             When
             none
             but
             such
             Fools
             would
             receive
             him
             .
          
        
         
           
             V.
             
          
           
             He
             ne'er
             knew
             ,
             not
             he
             ,
             how
             to
             serve
             or
             be
             free
             ,
          
           
             Though
             he
             has
             past
             through
             so
             many
             Adventures
             ;
          
           
             But
             e'er
             since
             he
             was
             bound
             ,
             (
             that
             is
             ,
             he
             was
             crown'd
             )
          
           
             He
             has
             every
             Day
             broke
             his
             Indentures
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             VI.
             
          
           
             He
             spends
             all
             his
             Days
             in
             running
             to
             Plays
             ,
          
           
             When
             he
             should
             in
             the
             Shop
             be
             poring
             :
          
           
             And
             he
             wasts
             all
             his
             Nights
             in
             his
             constant
             Delights
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Revelling
             ,
             Drinking
             and
             Whoring
             .
          
        
         
           
             VII
             .
          
           
             Tho'
             out
             of
             Lumbard-street
             each
             Man
             he
             did
             meet
             ,
          
           
             He
             would
             run
             on
             the
             Score
             and
             borrow
             ,
          
           
             When
             they
             'd
             ask'd
             for
             their
             own
             ,
             he
             was
             broke
             and
             gone
             ,
          
           
             And
             his
             Creditors
             left
             to
             Sorrow
             .
          
        
         
           
             VIII
             .
          
           
             Though
             oft
             bound
             to
             the
             Peace
             ,
             yet
             he
             never
             would
             cease
          
           
             To
             vex
             his
             poor
             Neighbour
             with
             Quarrels
             ,
          
           
             And
             when
             he
             was
             beat
             ,
             he
             still
             made
             his
             Retreat
             ,
          
           
             To
             his
             Cleavelands
             ,
             his
             Nels
             ,
             and
             his
             Carwels
             .
          
        
         
           
             IX
             .
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             his
             Company
             lewd
             were
             twice
             grown
             so
             rude
             ,
          
           
             That
             had
             not
             Fear
             taught
             him
             Sobriety
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             House
             been
             well
             barr'd
             with
             Guard
             upon
             Guard
             ,
          
           
             They'd
             robb'd
             us
             of
             all
             our
             Propriety
             .
          
        
         
           
             X.
             
          
           
             Such
             a
             Plot
             was
             laid
             ,
             had
             not
             Ashley
             betray'd
             ,
          
           
             As
             had
             cancell'd
             all
             former
             Disasters
             ;
          
           
             And
             your
             Wives
             had
             been
             Strumpets
             to
             his
             Highnesses
             Trumpets
             ,
          
           
             And
             Foot-Boys
             had
             all
             been
             your
             Masters
             .
          
        
         
           
             XI
             .
          
           
             So
             many
             are
             the
             Debts
             and
             the
             Bastards
             he
             gets
             ,
          
           
             Which
             must
             all
             be
             defray'd
             by
             London
             ,
          
           
             That
             notwithstanding
             the
             Care
             of
             Sir
             
               Th
               —
               Pl
               —
               r
            
             ,
          
           
             The
             Chamber
             must
             needs
             be
             undone
             .
          
        
         
           
             XII
             .
          
           
             His
             Word
             nor
             his
             Oath
             cannot
             bind
             him
             to
             Troth
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             values
             not
             Credit
             or
             History
             ;
          
           
             And
             though
             he
             has
             served
             through
             two
             '
             Prentiships
             now
             ,
          
           
             He
             knows
             not
             his
             Trade
             nor
             his
             Mystery
             .
          
        
         
           
             XIII
             .
          
           
             Then
             London
             rejoice
             in
             thy
             fortunate
             Choice
             ,
          
           
             To
             have
             made
             him
             free
             of
             thy
             Spices
             ;
          
           
             And
             do
             not
             mistrust
             he
             may
             once
             grow
             more
             just
             ,
          
           
             When
             he
             's
             worn
             of
             his
             Follies
             and
             Vices
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             XIV
             .
          
           
             And
             what
             little
             thing
             is
             that
             which
             you
             bring
          
           
             To
             the
             D
             —
             e
             ,
             the
             Kingdom
             's
             Darling
             ;
          
           
             Ye
             hug
             it
             and
             draw
             like
             Ants
             at
             a
             Straw
             ,
          
           
             Tho'
             too
             small
             for
             the
             Gristle
             of
             Starling
             .
          
        
         
           
             XV.
             
          
           
             Is
             it
             a
             Box
             of
             Pills
             to
             cure
             the
             D
             —
             's
             Ills
             ?
          
           
             (
             He
             is
             too
             far
             gone
             to
             begin
             it
             )
          
           
             Or
             that
             your
             fine
             Show
             in
             Processioning
             go
             ,
          
           
             With
             the
             Piss
             —
             the
             Host
             within
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVI
             .
          
           
             And
             who
             could
             swear
             ,
             that
             he
             would
             forbear
          
           
             To
             cull
             out
             the
             good
             of
             an
             Alien
             ,
          
           
             Who
             still
             doth
             advance
             the
             Government
             of
             France
             ,
          
           
             With
             a
             Wife
             and
             
               Religion
               Italian
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             XVII
             .
          
           
             And
             now
             ,
             Worshipful
             Sir
             ,
             go
             fold
             up
             your
             Furrs
             ,
          
           
             And
             Vyner
             turn
             again
             ,
             turn
             again
             ;
          
           
             I
             see
             who
             e'er
             freed
             you
             ,
             for
             Slaves
             are
             decreed
          
           
             Until
             you
             
               burn
               again
               ,
               burn
               again
            
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           On
           the
           Prorogation
           of
           the
           Eighteen-years
           Parliament
           :
           Or
           ,
           Club
           of
           unanimous
           Voters
           .
        
         
           
             PRorogued
             on
             Prorogation
             ,
             
               Damn'd
               Rogues
               and
               Whores
            
             ,
          
           
             Who
             pick●d
             our
             Pockets
             ,
             are
             now
             turn'd
             out
             of
             Doors●
          
           
             Have
             we
             our
             Country
             plagu'd
             ,
             our
             Trust
             betray'd
             ,
          
           
             Given
             
               Loans
               ,
               Polls
               ,
               Subsidies
            
             ,
             and
             
               Royal
               Aid
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Hearth-money
               ,
               Impost
            
             ,
             and
             the
             
               Lawyers
               Fees
            
             ,
          
           
             Ruin'd
             all
             Trade
             ,
             tormented
             all
             Degrees
             ,
          
           
             To
             b●
             thus
             serv'd
             at
             la●●●s
          
        
         
           
             Have
             we
             more
             Money
             rais'd
             in
             twelve
             years
             space
             ,
          
           
             Than
             
               Norman
               Bastard
            
             had
             ,
             and
             all
             his
             Race
             ;
          
           
             Hurried
             up
             Money
             Bills
             against
             Dutch
             and
             French
             ,
          
           
             And
             seen
             it
             spent
             upon
             a
             Dunghil
             Wench
             !
          
           
             Were
             we
             content
             the
             Kingdom
             to
             undo
             ;
          
           
             To
             enrich
             an
             over-ridden
             Whore
             or
             two
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             for
             this
             !
          
        
         
           
           
             With
             
               Plague
               ,
               War
            
             ,
             and
             Fire
             was
             the
             Kingdom
             curst
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             of
             all
             Plagues
             were
             we
             our selves
             the
             worst
             ,
          
           
             All
             just
             Elections
             null'd
             ,
             and
             took
             such
             Pain
          
           
             To
             make
             this
             Parliament
             a
             Rogue
             in
             Grain
             ,
          
           
             Heal'd
             Co
             —
             y's
             ●lit
             Nose
             ,
             and
             through
             our
             Fears
             ,
          
           
             Stood
             to
             be
             piss'd
             on
             by
             the
             House
             of
             Peers
             .
          
           
             Run
             to
             our
             Masters
             Cellar
             to
             Fox
             our
             Mace
             ,
          
           
             And
             hundred
             more
             humble
             Acts
             like
             these
             ,
          
           
             That
             we
             might
             not
             his
             Majesty
             displease
             ,
          
           
             To
             be
             thus
             serv'd
             !
          
        
         
           
             Well
             fare
             ,
             true
             ,
             
               V
               —
               n
               ,
               H
               —
               d
               ,
               O
               —
               n
               ,
               C
               —
               rr
               ,
            
          
           
             
               L
               —
               n
               ,
               S
               —
               r
               ,
            
             and
             our
             great
             Man
             of
             War
             ,
          
           
             
               Wil.
               G
               —
               y
            
             ,
             the
             Hector
             of
             our
             House
             ,
          
           
             That
             always
             fetch'd
             his
             Blow
             to
             kill
             a
             Louse
             ;
          
           
             For
             these
             great
             Patriots
             ,
             Malecontent
             ,
             did
             plot
          
           
             Their
             Country's
             Good
             ,
             till
             they
             had
             Places
             got
             ,
          
           
             Bluster'd
             and
             huff'd
             till
             they
             were
             officer'd
             ,
          
           
             But
             then
             of
             Country
             more
             the
             Devil
             a
             Word
             :
          
           
             They
             need
             not
             hector
             more
             'gainst
             
               Hogen
               Mogen
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             feel
             like
             Asses
             the
             Plague
             of
             a
             Prorogueing
             .
          
        
         
           
             Damned
             B
             —
             of
             a
             false
             Sire
             the
             Son
             ,
          
           
             Did
             we
             for
             this
             dismount
             old
             
               C
               —
               n
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             set
             thee
             up
             the
             mighty
             Man
             of
             State
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             thy
             Hands
             put
             the
             whole
             Kingdom
             's
             Fate
             ?
          
           
             Did
             we
             forget
             thou
             truck'd'st
             with
             what
             was
             Trump
             ,
          
           
             And
             paid'st
             Allegiance
             to
             the
             
               rotten
               Rump
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             Did
             we
             continue
             spilling
             S
             —
             y's
             Life
             ,
          
           
             That
             with
             more
             Freedom
             thou
             might'st
             Whore
             his
             Wi●e
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             for
             this
             requite
             ungrateful
             Wretch
             ,
          
           
             May
             Pox
             and
             Plague
             and
             Devil
             hence
             thee
             fetch
             .
          
           
             Let
             some
             prorogu'd
             ,
             incensed
             Felton
             rather
          
           
             Send't
             his
             curs'd
             Son
             to
             find
             his
             guilty
             Father
             .
          
           
             No
             other
             way
             could'st
             find
             t'
             attain
             thy
             Ends
             ,
          
           
             Than
             by
             disgusting's
             Majesty
             with
             's
             best
             Friends
             ;
          
           
             Turn
             off
             a
             Parliament
             ,
             ne'er
             King
             before
          
           
             Had
             such
             a
             one
             ,
             or
             ever
             will
             have
             more
             ?
          
           
             Did
             we
             give
             Cause
             to
             Fear
             we
             would
             not
             do
             ,
          
           
             What
             ever
             K
             —
             or
             thou
             command'st
             us
             to
             ?
          
           
           
             If
             standing
             Army
             't
             was
             thou
             would'st
             be
             at
             ,
          
           
             (
             As
             well
             as
             others
             )
             we
             could
             have
             rais'd
             that
             ;
          
           
             
               League
               Tripartite
            
             we
             could
             have
             broke
             ,
             and
             dance
          
           
             Framed
             to
             the
             Measures
             and
             the
             Pipes
             of
             France
             .
          
           
             We
             could
             have
             yielded
             to
             have
             rais'd
             a
             Cittadel
             ,
          
           
             More
             our
             own
             City
             ,
             than
             the
             Dutch
             to
             quell
             ,
          
           
             Look
             through
             our
             Fingers
             ,
             and
             sneer
             to
             behold
          
           
             New
             London
             flaming
             as
             we
             did
             the
             Old.
          
           
             We
             could
             Plots
             make
             like
             Oliver
             or
             Hewit
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             them
             guilty
             of
             't
             that
             ne'er
             knew
             it
             .
          
           
             And
             must
             we
             after
             all
             our
             Service
             done
             ,
          
           
             In
             Field
             for
             Father
             ,
             and
             in
             House
             for
             Son
             ,
          
           
             Be
             thus
             cashier'd
             to
             please
             a
             pocky
             Peer
             ,
          
           
             That
             neither
             Round-head
             is
             ,
             nor
             a
             Cavalier
             ,
          
           
             But
             of
             some
             middle
             Cut
             ,
             some
             ill
             Shape
             ,
             that
          
           
             Fain
             would
             be
             something
             if
             he
             knew
             but
             what
             ;
          
           
             And
             like
             light
             Butterfly
             much
             fluttering
             make
             ,
          
           
             Sleep
             of
             one
             Judgment
             and
             another
             wake
             .
          
           
             He
             all
             things
             is
             ,
             but
             unto
             nothing's
             true
             ;
          
           
             All
             old
             things
             hates
             ,
             yet
             can
             abide
             no
             new
             .
          
           
             Had
             we
             but
             hearken'd
             and
             the
             fore
             game
             play'd
             ,
          
           
             We
             had
             prevented
             our
             being
             thus
             betray'd
             .
          
           
             But
             please
             your
             pocky
             Grace
             to
             give
             me
             leave
             ,
          
           
             To
             ask
             you
             why
             you
             did
             your
             Prince
             deceive
             .
          
           
             Our
             first
             Prorogue
             might
             sure
             have
             stood
             till
             then
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             time
             enough
             to
             have
             been
             prorogu'd
             then
             ;
          
           
             And
             not
             all
             in
             a
             Hurry
             seven
             Months
             before
             ,
          
           
             The
             former
             was
             expired
             to
             add
             six
             more
             .
          
           
             Is
             Fob
             so
             full
             ?
          
        
         
           
             
             Nell's
             in
             again
             !
             though
             ,
             we
             are
             out
             ;
          
           
             Methinks
             we
             might
             have
             met
             to
             give
             a
             Clout
             .
          
           
             Well
             ,
             now
             the
             sacred
             Cod-piece
             must
             keep
             Lent
             ,
          
           
             If
             Saints
             lend
             not
             ,
             or
             Cash
             from
             France
             be
             sent
             .
          
           
             Ah
             sweet
             Revenge
             !
             Let
             us
             but
             live
             to
             see
             ,
          
           
             Such
             Rogues
             prorogued
             to
             be
             as
             well
             as
             we●
          
           
             Indulge
             our
             Envy
             but
             to
             see
             that
             Day
             ,
          
           
             Though
             we
             be
             ruin'd
             by
             't
             as
             well
             as
             they
             .
          
           
             We
             Tyrants
             love
             ,
             if
             we
             can
             Tyrants
             be
             ,
          
           
             If
             not
             ,
             next
             Wish
             is
             ,
             We
             may
             all
             be
             free
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           On
           the
           Dissolution
           of
           the
           Club
           of
           Voters
           .
           Anno
           1678.
           
        
         
           
             OH
             Heavens
             !
             we
             have
             Signs
             below
             ,
          
           
             To
             let
             us
             our
             Destruction
             know
             .
          
           
             Eclipses
             ,
             bearded
             Stars
             that
             range
             ,
          
           
             Are
             needless
             to
             presage
             our
             change
             .
          
           
             When
             Monarchs
             frown
             upon
             the
             Wise
             ,
          
           
             And
             glibly
             swallow
             Romish
             lyes
             ;
          
           
             When
             Demonstration
             can't
             convince
          
           
             A
             deaf
             and
             unbelieving
             Prince
             :
          
           
             When
             K
             —
             by
             evil
             Counsel's
             lead
             ,
          
           
             Crushes
             the
             Trunk
             to
             raise
             the
             Head
             ,
          
           
             And
             does
             the
             Members
             fiercely
             sever
             ,
          
           
             To
             make
             them
             calmly
             lye
             together
             ;
          
           
             When
             self
             ownness
             in
             State
             presides
             ,
          
           
             And
             Ignorance
             our
             Council
             guides
             ;
          
           
             When
             Y
             —
             compounded
             of
             Ambition
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             wrath
             of
             inquisition
             ;
          
           
             When
             by
             the
             heat
             of
             Heart
             and
             Tongue
             ,
          
           
             You
             'd
             guess
             a
             heap
             of
             Pigeons
             dung
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             fierce
             deeds
             rash
             and
             amiss
             ,
          
           
             You
             'd
             think
             his
             Blood
             Spirit
             of
             Piss
             ;
          
           
             When
             he
             the
             stubborn
             Charioteer
             ,
          
           
             Takes
             his
             full
             uncheck'd
             Career
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             Brother
             Thoughtless
             of
             his
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             Upon
             soft
             Carkase
             lays
             him
             down
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             's
             Postilion
             to
             the
             Crown
             ;
          
           
             And
             on
             the
             Royal
             Lumber
             drives
             ,
          
           
             Prostestants
             defend
             your
             lives
             :
          
           
             What
             can
             the
             Issue
             of
             this
             be
             ,
          
           
             But
             loss
             of
             Subject's
             Liberty
             ?
          
           
             When
             Crowns
             Revenue
             by
             bribes
             are
             wasted
             ,
          
           
             And
             on
             vile
             Pentioners
             exhausted
             ,
          
           
             When
             Honest
             Men
             receive
             disgrace
             ,
          
           
             Turn'd
             out
             of
             Offices
             and
             Place
             ;
          
           
             And
             Powers
             beckon
             from
             the
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             To
             let
             the
             Nation
             stand
             alone
             .
          
           
           
             Thinks
             on
             new
             ways
             for
             new
             supplies
             ,
          
           
             And
             damns
             the
             Parliament
             as
             Spies●
          
           
             Prorogues
             ,
             and
             then
             dissolves
             their
             Heats
             ,
          
           
             And
             gives
             no
             time
             to
             try
             Court-cheats
             .
          
           
             What
             can
             we
             think
             of
             these
             delusions
             ,
          
           
             But
             loss
             of
             safety
             ,
             and
             Confus●on●
          
           
             When
             K
             —
             to
             Commons
             makes
             fine
             Speeches
             ,
          
           
             And
             draws
             his
             Reason
             from
             his
             breeches
             ,
          
           
             Declares
             our
             Nation
             wants
             but
             C
             —
          
           
             Which
             must
             be
             paid
             with
             Subjects
             Money
             ?
          
           
             When
             Whores
             make
             Monarchs
             ;
             Drunk
             ,
             and
             Rule
          
           
             By
             the
             idle
             grant
             of
             a
             dipt
             Fool●
          
           
             And
             Dissolutions
             may
             be
             said
          
           
             The
             Effect
             of
             Staggers
             in
             the
             Head
             ,
          
           
             And
             Government
             is
             a
             Diseas●
          
           
             Made
             up
             of
             Vice
             and
             sensual
             E●se
             .
          
           
             When
             Cavaliers
             in
             Publick
             Wars
          
           
             Against
             their
             bubled
             Governours
             ,
          
           
             Swear
             they
             'll
             no
             Assistance
             bring
             ,
          
           
             To
             a
             lascivious
             Dildoe
             K
             —
             .
          
           
             When
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             by
             various
             Minds
             do's
             draw
             ,
          
           
             Ruling
             by
             Letchery
             not
             by
             Law
             ;
          
           
             Who
             do's
             his
             Pimps
             ,
             not
             Statesmen
             trust
             ,
          
           
             Spending
             his
             brains
             upon
             his
             Lust
             :
          
           
             When
             things
             are
             thus
             perversly
             sowing
             ,
          
           
             Poor
             Nineveh
             is
             surely
             going
             .
          
           
             When
             French
             runs
             through
             the
             Prin●es
             Veins
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             by
             theirs
             ,
             not
             our
             Law
             Reigns
             .
          
           
             When
             French
             c●eeps
             into
             Royal
             Bed
             ,
          
           
             First
             charming
             Codpiece
             ,
             then
             the
             Head
             ,
          
           
             And
             Monarch
             Sw
             —
             s
             on
             good
             behaviour
             ,
          
           
             But
             as
             he
             'll
             shew
             dear
             Monsieur
             Favour
             .
          
           
             When
             Female
             Buttocks
             dictate
             thus
             ,
          
           
             Good
             Lord
             !
             what
             will
             become
             of
             us
             ?
          
           
             Is
             there
             no
             end
             of
             Monarchs
             Itch
             ,
          
           
             That
             doats
             upon
             a
             fulsome
             Bitch
             ,
          
           
             Who
             ranker
             than
             the
             Adder
             grows
             ,
          
           
             Ferrets
             her
             Belly
             with
             his
             Nose
             ?
          
           
             And
             swears
             upon
             her
             bawdy
             Skin
             ,
          
           
             He
             'll
             let
             the
             Mass
             and
             French
             Troops
             in
             :
          
           
           
             Assigns
             his
             Crown
             and
             Royal
             Power
             ,
          
           
             To
             be
             dispos'd
             of
             by
             a
             Whore●
          
           
             Beware
             unthinking
             
               C
               —
               s
            
             beware
             ,
          
           
             Consider
             and
             begin
             to
             fear
             ;
          
           
             For
             Pope
             and
             Lewis
             are
             untrue
             :
          
           
             Whatever
             I
             —
             declares
             to
             you
             ,
          
           
             He
             's
             warranted
             by
             Holy
             Mother
             ,
          
           
             To
             sham
             and
             gull
             his
             Elder
             Brother
             ;
          
           
             When
             he
             's
             to
             work
             you
             to
             design
             ,
          
           
             He
             first
             will
             soak
             you
             well
             with
             Wine
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             to
             your
             Incestuous
             Eyes
             ,
          
           
             He
             'll
             show
             again
             her
             H
             —
             ss
             Thighs
             ;
          
           
             Strip
             her
             of
             greatness
             for
             the
             Cause
             ,
          
           
             And
             shew
             her
             Scut
             to
             change
             the
             Laws
             ;
          
           
             But
             this
             is
             no
             immodest
             thing
             ,
          
           
             To
             have
             her
             Humbles
             view'd
             by
             K
             —
             ,
          
           
             She
             may
             expose
             on
             such
             occasion
             ,
          
           
             Her
             
               Popish
               A
            
             —
             to
             the
             whole
             Nation
             .
          
           
             Zeal
             wipes
             away
             all
             Impudence
             ,
          
           
             The
             greatest
             crimes
             are
             Innocence
             ,
          
           
             When
             for
             the
             Churches
             good
             intended
             ;
          
           
             And
             thus
             her
             H
             —
             ss
             faults
             are
             mended
             ,
          
           
             And
             Catholick
             Modesty
             befriended
             ;
          
           
             This
             was
             a
             good
             attempt
             at
             first
             ,
          
           
             Shew'd
             she
             ne'er
             bashfully
             was
             nurs'd
             ;
          
           
             But
             rather
             liv'd
             'mongst
             shamble
             Crew
             ,
          
           
             Brought
             up
             in
             some
             Italian
             Stew
             ;
          
           
             A
             Dutchess
             in
             our
             Country
             ,
             known
          
           
             A
             common
             Strumpet
             in
             her
             own
             .
          
        
         
           
             From
             Dukes
             that
             are
             but
             little
             better
             ,
          
           
             From
             a
             Whore
             by
             Nation
             and
             by
             Nature
             ,
          
           
             From
             a
             King
             that
             Reigns
             by
             their
             direction
             ,
          
           
             From
             Subjects
             guided
             by
             the
             Devil's
             Protection
             ,
          
           
             From
             a
             soust
             Pilot
             at
             the
             Helm
             ,
          
           
             Good
             Lord
             deliver
             this
             poor
             Realm
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           On
           the
           Lord
           Chancellor's
           Speech
           to
           the
           Parliament
           ,
           March
           1679.
           
        
         
           
             This
             is
             the
             Time.
             
          
           
             WOuld
             you
             send
             K
             —
             to
             
               P
               —
               l
            
             ,
          
           
             Great
             Iames
             to
             be
             a
             Cardinal
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             Prince
             Rupert
             Admiral
             ,
          
           
             
               This
               is
               the
               Time.
            
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             turn
             D
             —
             out
             of
             Doors
             ,
          
           
             Banish
             Rebels
             and
             French
             Whores
             ,
          
           
             The
             worser
             sort
             of
             Common-shores
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             unravel
             
               Popish
               Plots
            
             ,
          
           
             Send
             
               L
               —
               le
            
             amongst
             the
             Scots
             ,
          
           
             And
             rid
             the
             Court
             of
             
               Irish
               Sots
            
             .
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             exalt
             the
             mighty
             Name
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Shaftsbury
             and
             
               B
               —
               m
            
             ,
          
           
             And
             not
             forget
             Judge
             
               Sc
               —
               s
            
             his
             Fame
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             our
             Soveraign
             dis-abuse
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             his
             Parliaments
             of
             use
          
           
             Not
             to
             be
             chang'd
             like
             dirty
             Shooes
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             extirpate
             Pimps
             and
             Panders
             ,
          
           
             Disband
             the
             rest
             of
             our
             Commanders
             ,
          
           
             Send
             M
             —
             after
             Teague
             to
             Flanders
             .
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             send
             Confessors
             to
             tell
          
           
             
               P
               —
               s
               ,
               St
               —
               d
            
             and
             
               A
               —
               l
            
             ,
          
           
             They
             must
             prepare
             their
             Souls
             for
             Hell.
          
           
             
               This
               is
               the
               Time.
            
             
          
        
         
           
           
             Would
             you
             remove
             our
             Ministers
          
           
             The
             cursed
             cause
             of
             all
             our
             Fears
             ,
          
           
             Without
             forgetting
             Turn-coat
             
               M
               —
               s
            
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             hang
             those
             that
             take
             example
          
           
             By
             C
             —
             and
             Timber
             T
             —
             ,
          
           
             For
             all
             such
             Rascals
             merit
             Hemp
             well
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             once
             more
             bless
             this
             Nation
             ,
          
           
             By
             changing
             of
             P
             —
             's
             Vocation
             ,
          
           
             And
             find
             one
             fit
             for
             Procreation
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             let
             P
             —
             try
             her
             chance●
          
           
             Believe
             
               Oates
               ,
               Bedloe
               ,
               Dugdale
               ,
               Prance
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             send
             Berillon
             into
             France
             ,
          
           
             This
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             Would
             you
             turn
             Papists
             from
             the
             Q
             —
             ,
          
           
             Cloister
             up
             fulsome
             
               M
               —
               n
            
             ,
          
           
             Once
             more
             make
             Charles
             great
             again
             ,
          
           
             
               This
               is
               the
               time
            
             ,
          
        
      
       
         
           An
           Acrostick
           .
        
         
           C
           lose
           wrapt
           in
           P
           —
           's
           Smock
           his
           Senses
           are
           ;
        
         
           H
           eadlong
           he
           runs
           into
           
           Circe's
           snares
           ,
        
         
           A
           nd
           by
           her
           Charms
           is
           so
           besotted
           grown
           ,
        
         
           R
           ather
           than
           quit
           her
           he
           will
           lose
           his
           Throne
           .
        
         
           L
           eave
           her
           for
           shame
           ,
           cast
           off
           those
           idle
           Charms
           ;
        
         
           E
           mploy
           your self
           ,
           like
           nighbouring
           Kings
           ,
           in
           Arms
           ,
        
         
           S
           ecure
           your
           Nation
           and
           your self
           from
           harms
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           The
           Commons
           Address
           to
           the
           K.
           
             A.
             D.
             1670.
          
           
        
         
           In
           all
           humility
           we
           crave
        
         
           Our
           Sovereign
           to
           be
           our
           Slave
           ,
        
         
           Beseeching
           him
           that
           he
           would
           be
        
         
           Betray'd
           by
           us
           most
           Loyally
           ;
        
         
           And
           if
           he
           please
           but
           once
           lay
           down
        
         
           His
           Sceptre
           ,
           Dignity
           ,
           and
           Crown
           ,
        
         
           We
           'll
           make
           him
           ,
           for
           the
           time
           to
           come
           ,
        
         
           The
           greatest
           Prince
           in
           Christendom
           .
        
      
       
         
           The
           Answer
           to
           the
           Acrostick
           .
           
             A.
             D.
             1670.
          
           
        
         
           
             C
             —
             at
             this
             time
             having
             no
             need
             ,
          
           
             Thanks
             you
             as
             much
             as
             if
             he
             did
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             House
             of
             Commons
             are
             the
             People's
             God
             ,
          
           
             The
             Countrey
             's
             Scourge
             ,
             the
             Nation
             's
             Iron
             Rod
             ,
          
           
             The
             Lord's
             Vexation
             ,
             and
             the
             K
             —
             by
             G
             —
             d.
             
          
        
      
       
         
           On
           the
           D.
           of
           
           Y's
           Voyage
           into
           Flanders
           .
        
         
           
             
               R.
               H.
            
             they
             say
             ,
             is
             gone
             to
             see
          
           
             The
             Princess
             of
             the
             Hague
             ;
          
           
             But
             P
             —
             h's
             left
             behind
             to
             be
          
           
             The
             Nation
             's
             whorish
             Plague
             .
          
        
         
           
             Some
             say
             he
             is
             diverted
             thence
             ,
          
           
             And
             sailed
             into
             France
             ,
          
           
             Because
             the
             Wind
             at
             's
             going
             hence
          
           
             Stood
             
               Bedloe
               ,
               Oates
            
             ,
             and
             Prance
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Some
             think
             he
             went
             unwillingly
             ,
          
           
             And
             others
             say
             he
             's
             sent
             there
             ,
          
           
             But
             most
             affirm
             for
             certainty
          
           
             He
             's
             gone
             to
             keep
             his
             Lent
             there
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             those
             that
             can
             astrologize
          
           
             Do
             swear
             nothing
             more
             true
             is
             ,
          
           
             The
             soleness
             of
             his
             Errand
             lies
          
           
             To
             fetch
             his
             Cousin
             Lewis
             ;
          
        
         
           
             And
             both
             together
             ,
             as
             they
             say
             ,
          
           
             (
             If
             one
             may
             dare
             to
             speak
             on
             't
             )
          
           
             Through
             Hereticks
             Bloud
             will
             cut
             a
             way
          
           
             To
             bring
             in
             I
             —
             the
             Second
             .
          
        
         
           
             By
             yea
             and
             nay
             ,
             the
             Quaker
             cries
             ,
          
           
             How
             can
             we
             hope
             for
             better
             ,
          
           
             Truth
             's
             not
             in
             him
             that
             this
             denies
             ,
          
           
             Read
             
               Edward
               Coleman's
            
             Letter
             .
          
        
         
           
             Gar
             ,
             Gar
             ,
             the
             Jockey
             swears
             fou
             thing
             ,
          
           
             Man
             ,
             here
             is
             mickle
             work
             :
          
           
             Deel
             split
             his
             Wem
             ,
             he
             's
             ne'er
             long
             King
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             name
             does
             rhime
             to
             Pork
          
        
         
           
             The
             Welshman
             swears
             ,
             Cut
             splutter
             Nails
             ,
          
           
             God
             send
             her
             from
             her
             Foes
             ,
          
           
             Was
             never
             have
             a
             Prince
             of
             Wales
          
           
             That
             wears
             a
             Roman
             Nose
             .
          
        
         
           
             Whate'er
             Pretences
             offered
             be
             ,
          
           
             Sure
             somewhat
             is
             contriving
             ;
          
           
             And
             he
             is
             blind
             that
             cannot
             see
          
           
             The
             Plot
             is
             still
             a
             driving
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           Vpon
           a
           Dispute
           in
           the
           Choice
           of
           Sheriffs
           there
           was
           a
           Paper
           spread
           abroad
           ,
           directed
           as
           followeth
           ,
        
         
           To
           the
           worthy
           Citizens
           of
           
             London
             .
             Respice
             &
             Cave
          
           .
           
             Gentlemen
             ,
          
        
         
           Now
           is
           the
           time
           ,
           acquit
           your selves
           like
           Men
           ,
        
         
           Else
           who
           can
           say
           you
           'll
           ever
           see
           't
           again
        
         
           Divide
           not
           ,
           for
           your
           lives
           ,
           their
           work
           is
           done
           ;
        
         
           Down
           must
           the
           Papists
           go
           ,
           and
           mouth
           must
           run
           ;
        
         
           Let
           not
           his
           Imprecations
           us
           befool
           ,
        
         
           He
           's
           worse
           than
           mad
           that
           trusts
           a
           Y
           —
           Tool
        
         
           Should
           he
           now
           chuse
           us
           Sheriffs
           ,
           and
           clodpate
           Juries
           ,
        
         
           We
           fall
           as
           Victims
           to
           their
           Popish
           Furies
           .
        
         
           Oh
           ,
           Heaven
           !
           direct
           us
           to
           unite
           ,
           we
           pray
           ;
        
         
           Old
           
           England's
           Fate
           depends
           upon
           this
           day
           ,
        
         
           And
           those
           unborn
           to
           bless
           or
           curse
           us
           may
           .
        
      
       
         
           On
           the
           same
           occasion
           .
        
         
           Lewis
           of
           France
           hath
           been
           the
           Prot'stant
           Scourge
           ,
        
         
           And
           Lewis
           of
           London
           is
           the
           Papists
           Drudge
           .
        
         
           One
           plays
           the
           Tyrant
           to
           uphold
           his
           Lust
           ,
        
         
           And
           
           London's
           Villain
           doth
           betray
           his
           Trust.
        
         
           Tyrant
           and
           Traytor
           L
           —
           is
           no
           less
           .
        
         
           And
           N
           —
           and
           Clod-pate
           maketh
           up
           the
           Mess.
        
         
           Close
           up
           the
           Poll
           ,
           or
           L
           —
           by
           this
           Light
           ,
        
         
           Your
           own
           shall
           off
           ,
           to
           doe
           the
           City
           right
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           Fore-warn'd
           ,
           Fore-arm'd
           .
        
         
           
             M
             —
             
             Ninny's
             Case
             looks
             desperate
             ,
          
           
             The
             Papists
             Cause
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             The
             Traytors
             struggle
             with
             their
             Fate
             ,
          
           
             Then
             Patriots
             now
             beware
             their
             hate
             ,
          
           
             Look
             to
             your selves
             e'er
             't
             be
             too
             late
             ,
          
           
             Or
             all
             is
             on
             a
             flame
             .
          
        
         
           
             A
             Countrey
             Hodge
             heard
             Tory
             say
             ,
          
           
             As
             he
             was
             walking
             home
             ,
          
           
             
             October's
             three
             and
             twentieth
             day
          
           
             Began
             the
             bloudy
             Irish
             Fray
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             to
             Edge-Hill
             took
             its
             way
             ;
          
           
             Remember
             Forty
             one
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             trusty
             Roger
             told
             for
             true
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             odds
             he
             guesses
             right
             ;
          
           
             M
             —
             had
             prepar'd
             his
             murthering
             Crew
             ,
          
           
             At
             unawares
             to
             murther
             you
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             that
             blow
             the
             Land
             subdue
             ,
          
           
             As
             you
             sit
             late
             at
             Night
             .
          
        
         
           
             Unless
             in
             time
             ye
             him
             prevent
             ,
          
           
             Be
             arm'd
             against
             those
             fears
             ;
          
           
             Ne'er
             trust
             to
             
             Rowly's
             Compliment
          
           
             When
             actions
             speak
             the
             ill
             intent
             ,
          
           
             Who
             never
             yet
             lov'd
             Parliament
             ,
          
           
             Whate'er
             he
             says
             or
             swears
             .
          
        
         
           
             What
             if
             't
             is
             said
             that
             M
             —
             shall
             go
             ,
          
           
             The
             Fool
             the
             Knave
             may
             trust
             ;
          
           
             Stand
             on
             your
             guard
             ,
             prevent
             this
             blow
             ,
          
           
             No
             matter
             whether
             he
             runs
             or
             no
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             you
             must
             Papists
             overthrow
             ,
          
           
             Let
             Devil
             doe
             his
             worst
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           A
           Bill
           on
           the
           House
           of
           Commons
           Door
           ,
           
             April
             15.
             1680.
          
           pursuant
           to
           a
           former
           Bill
           ,
           
             Jan.
             26.
             1679.
          
           fix'd
           there
           .
        
         
           
             Gentlemen
             ,
          
        
         
           When
           last
           you
           were
           here
           th'
           house
           ways
           to
           be
           let
           ,
        
         
           But
           now
           to
           the
           Pope
           and
           the
           Frenchmen
           't
           is
           set
           ,
        
         
           If
           you
           'll
           club
           in
           amongst
           them
           ,
           be
           quickly
           resolv'd●
        
         
           Or
           else
           you
           must
           home
           again
           '
           rog'd
           or
           dissolv'd
           .
        
         
           We
           'll
           try
           for
           another
           may
           serve
           our
           intention
           ,
        
         
           That
           England
           will
           betray
           for
           Place
           or
           Pention
           ,
        
         
           That
           's
           the
           life
           of
           the
           Cause
           ,
           and
           the
           end
           of
           Invention
           .
        
         
           We
           lost
           an
           old
           set
           would
           have
           done
           it
           no
           doubt
           ,
        
         
           But
           —
           on
           ill
           luck
           ,
           Rogue
           Tony
           was
           out
           ;
        
         
           Could
           we
           get
           them
           again
           ,
           we
           'd
           hug
           and
           cologue
           'em
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           D
           —
           nor
           Dutchess
           should
           e'er
           prorogue
           '
           em
           .
        
         
           (
           And
           honest
           endeavour
           to
           make
           us
           all
           Slaves
           ,
        
         
           Pray
           which
           the
           worst
           evil
           ,
           the
           Cause
           or
           the
           Knaves
           :
           )
        
         
           Old
           Albion
           looks
           ill
           ,
           she
           was
           heard
           to
           complain
           ,
        
         
           Her
           Head
           ,
           O!
           her
           Head
           was
           the
           cause
           of
           her
           pain
           ;
        
         
           It
           's
           all
           on
           a
           Lump
           ,
           for
           it
           cannot
           discover
        
         
           'Twixt
           its
           Catholick
           Foes
           ,
           and
           the
           Protestant
           Lover
           ,
        
         
           Her
           Emp'ricks
           and
           Quacks
           ,
           call'd
           Divine
           ,
           and
           some
           Civil
           ,
        
         
           Advise
           her
           to
           bleed
           again
           for
           the
           King
           's
           Evil.
        
         
           But
           better
           the
           Rogues
           were
           sent
           quick
           to
           the
           Devil
           :
        
         
           What!
           bleed
           an
           old
           Woman
           ,
           Spring
           ,
           Winter
           ,
           and
           Fall
           ?
        
         
           Don't
           you
           know
           she
           's
           too
           old
           to
           be
           practis'd
           withall
           ?
        
         
           But
           if
           you
           do
           venture
           once
           more
           to
           attempt
           it
           ,
        
         
           It
           's
           forty
           to
           one
           you
           're
           the
           first
           that
           repent
           it
           ,
        
         
           For
           your
           Plots
           ,
           and
           your
           Murthers
           ,
           and
           Treasons
           she
           'll
           try
           you
           ,
        
         
           Though
           the
           Monsieur
           ,
           and
           Tories
           ,
           and
           Devils
           stand
           by
           you
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           On
           Nell
           .
        
         
           Hard
           by
           Pell-mell
           lives
           a
           Wench
           called
           Nell
           ,
        
         
           K.
           C
           —
           the
           s
           —
           he
           kept
           her
           ;
        
         
           She
           has
           got
           a
           trick
           to
        
         
           But
           never
           lays
           Hands
           on
           his
           Sceptre
           ;
        
         
           All
           matters
           of
           State
           from
           her
           Soul
           she
           does
           hate
           ,
        
         
           And
           leave
           to
           the
           Politick
           Bitches
           .
        
         
           The
           Whore's
           in
           the
           right
           ,
           for
           't
           is
           her
           delight
        
         
           To
           be
           scratching
           just
           where
           it
           itches
           .
        
      
       
         
           Iustice
           in
           Masquerade
           .
        
         
           
             A
             Butcher's
             Son's
             Judge
             Capital
          
           
             Poor
             Protestants
             for
             to
             enthrall
             ,
          
           
             And
             England
             to
             enslave
             ,
             Sirs
             .
          
           
             Lose
             both
             our
             Laws
             and
             Lives
             we
             must
             ,
          
           
             When
             to
             doe
             Justice
             we
             entrust
          
           
             So
             known
             an
             errant
             Knave
             ,
             Sirs
             .
          
           
             Some
             hungry
             Priests
             he
             did
             once
             fell
          
           
             With
             mighty
             strokes
             ,
             and
             them
             to
             Hell
          
           
             Sent
             presently
             away
             ,
             Sirs
             .
          
           
             Would
             you
             know
             why
             ,
             the
             reason
             's
             plain
             ,
          
           
             They
             had
             no
             English
             nor
             French
             Coin
          
           
             To
             make
             a
             longer
             stay
             ,
             Sirs
             .
          
           
             The
             Pope
             to
             Purgatory
             sends
             ,
          
           
             Who
             neither
             Money
             have
             nor
             Friends
             ,
          
           
             In
             this
             he
             's
             not
             alone
             ,
             Sirs
             :
          
           
             For
             our
             Judge
             to
             Mercy
             's
             not
             enclin'd
          
           
             Lest
             Gold
             change
             Conscience
             and
             his
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             You
             are
             infallibly
             gone
             ,
             Sirs
             .
          
           
             His
             Father
             once
             exempted
             was
          
           
             Out
             of
             all
             Juries
             .
             Why
             ?
             Because
          
           
             He
             was
             a
             Man
             of
             Bloud
             ,
             Sirs
             .
          
           
           
             And
             why
             the
             Butcherly
             Son
             forsooth
             ,
          
           
             Should
             now
             be
             Jury
             and
             Judge
             both
          
           
             Cannot
             be
             understood
             ,
             Sir.
          
           
             The
             good
             old
             Man
             with
             Knife
             and
             Knocks
          
           
             Made
             harmless
             Sheep
             and
             stubborn
             Ox
          
           
             Stoop
             to
             him
             in
             his
             fury
          
           
             But
             the
             brib'd
             Son
             ,
             like
             greasie
             Elfe
             ,
          
           
             Kneels
             down
             and
             worships
             Golden
             Calf
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             do
             all
             the
             Jury
             .
          
           
             Better
             thou'dst
             been
             at
             Father's
             Trade
          
           
             An
             honest
             Livelihood
             to
             have
             made
          
           
             In
             hampering
             Bulls
             with
             Collars
             ,
          
           
             Than
             to
             thy
             Countrey
             be
             unjust
             ,
          
           
             First
             sell
             ,
             and
             then
             betray
             thy
             trust
             ,
          
           
             For
             so
             many
             hard
             Rix-dollars
             .
          
           
             Priest
             and
             Physician
             thou
             didst
             save
          
           
             From
             Gallows
             ,
             Fire
             ,
             and
             from
             Grave
          
           
             For
             which
             we
             can't
             endure
             thee
             ,
          
           
             The
             one
             can
             ne'er
             absolve
             thy
             sins
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             other
             (
             though
             he
             now
             begins
             )
          
           
             Of
             Knavery
             ne'er
             can
             cure
             thee
             .
          
           
             But
             lest
             we
             all
             should
             end
             his
             life
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             a
             keen-whet
             Chopping
             knife
          
           
             In
             a
             thousand
             pieces
             ,
             cleave
             him
             :
          
           
             Let
             the
             Parliament
             first
             him
             undertake
             ,
          
           
             The
             'll
             make
             the
             Rascal
             stink
             at
             stake
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             like
             a
             Knave
             let
             's
             leave
             him
             .
          
        
         
           
             Pars
             Secunda
             .
          
           
             Since
             Justice
             
               S
               —
               P
            
             —
             and
             D
             —
             did
             bail
             ,
          
           
             Upon
             the
             good
             Cause
             did
             turn
             his
             tail
             ,
          
           
             For
             2000
             pounds
             to
             buy
             Tent
             and
             Ale
             ,
          
           
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
          
           
             The
             Jury
             and
             Judge
             to
             sham
             the
             Plot
             ,
          
           
             Free'd
             the
             Traytours
             to
             prove
             it
             was
             not
             ,
          
           
             But
             old
             England
             will
             stand
             when
             the
             Rogues
             go
             to
             pot
             ,
          
           
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
          
           
           
             S
             —
             was
             at
             first
             a
             Man
             of
             the
             Blade
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             his
             Father
             follow'd
             the
             Butcherly
             Trade
             ,
          
           
             But
             't
             was
             the
             
             Peter-pence
             made
             him
             a
             Jade
             ,
          
           
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
          
           
             He
             'd
             stand
             by
             the
             Protestant's
             cause
             he
             said
             ,
          
           
             And
             lift
             up
             his
             eyes
             and
             cry'd
             we'er
             all
             betray'd
             ;
          
           
             But
             the
             Petty
             Fogger
             was
             then
             in
             a
             Maskquerade
             ,
          
           
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
          
           
             When
             D
             —
             mention'd
             to
             the
             King
             his
             name
             ,
          
           
             He
             said
             he
             had
             neither
             honesty
             nor
             shame
             :
          
           
             And
             would
             play
             any
             sort
             of
             Game
             ,
          
           
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
          
           
             He
             swears
             he
             'd
             confound
             Bedlow
             and
             Oates
             ,
          
           
             And
             prove
             the
             Papist's
             Sheep
             and
             the
             Protestant's
             Goats
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             they
             are
             all
             fools
             that
             on
             Property
             dotes
             ,
          
           
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           A
           Copy
           of
           Verses
           flung
           into
           Iustice
           S
           —
           Chamber
           .
        
         
           Here
           Lives
           the
           Woolf
           Justice
           ,
           and
           Butcherly
           Knave
           ,
        
         
           Who
           Protestants
           gaols
           ,
           but
           the
           Papist's
           does
           save
           ,
        
         
           He
           's
           a
           bold
           Persecutour
           ,
           contrary
           to
           Laws
           ,
        
         
           Of
           all
           that
           dare
           write
           for
           the
           Protestant
           cause
           :
        
         
           Since
           these
           were
           his
           Actions
           ,
           in
           vain
           was
           his
           Prate
           ,
        
         
           And
           false
           Imprecations
           he
           printed
           of
           late
           ,
        
         
           'T
           will
           one
           day
           be
           Prov'd
           (
           old
           clod
           pate
           )
           that
           you
        
         
           Were
           Brib'd
           by
           the
           Court
           and
           Portugal
           too
           ;
        
         
           When
           Parliament
           come
           to
           Town
           you
           'll
           receive
           such
           a
           Check
           ,
        
         
           Not
           your
           Speech
           nor
           your
           Pardon
           )
           will
           save
           your
           Bull
           Neck
           :
        
         
           In
           the
           Interim
           go
           on
           and
           play
           
           England's
           story
           ,
        
         
           You
           'll
           hang
           at
           the
           last
           as
           Tresilian
           before
           ye
           .
        
         
           For
           we
           'll
           have
           the
           Plot
           —
           come
           on
           't
           what
           can
           be
        
         
           In
           spight
           of
           old
           clod
           Pate
           ,
           
             Y
             —
             ,
             L
             —
             ,
             D
             —
          
           :
        
         
           'T
           is
           not
           Prorogations
           shall
           serve
           the
           Rogues
           turn
           ,
        
         
           We
           'll
           dye
           at
           our
           doors
           e
           er
           in
           Smithfield
           we
           'll
           burn
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           The
           Pope's
           Advice
           ;
           with
           the
           Holiness's
           Benediction
           to
           his
           Iudge
           and
           Iury
           in
           Utopia
           .
        
         
           Well
           done
           ,
           my
           Sons
           ,
           you
           have
           redeem'd
           my
           Cause
           ,
        
         
           Beyond
           my
           expectation
           from
           the
           Jaws
        
         
           Of
           my
           Curst
           foe's
           ,
           the
           Protestant's
           their
           Laws
           ;
        
         
           For
           had
           you
           not
           thus
           timely
           stept
           between
           ,
        
         
           They
           had
           endanger'd
           both
           my
           Cause
           and
           Queen
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           Past
           all
           Redemption
           had
           it
           been
           .
        
         
           From
           Tyburn
           they
           more
           Martyrs
           had
           me
           sent
           ,
        
         
           Which
           I
           had
           rather
           Quick
           ,
           to
           th'
           Devil
           went
           ,
        
         
           Than
           my
           designs
           so
           well
           contriv'd
           be
           shent
           .
        
         
           Go
           on
           and
           Prosper
           never
           change
           you
           notes
           ,
        
         
           The
           sign
           o'
           th'
           Cross
           direct
           your
           open
           throats
        
         
           To
           cry
           not
           guilty
           ,
           so
           you
           'll
           baffle
           Oates
           .
        
         
           Forsworn
           ,
           no
           matter
           ,
           if
           you
           Perjur'd
           be
           ,
        
         
           You
           are
           d●spenc't
           with
           ,
           and
           ought
           to
           go
           free
           ;
        
         
           'T
           is
           mighty
           service
           to
           the
           Court
           and
           me
           :
        
         
           Who
           will
           Requite
           it
           and
           for
           certain
           know
        
         
           My
           Pardons
           and
           Blessings
           on
           you
           I
           bestow
           ,
        
         
           Besides
           the
           Gold
           you
           have
           receiv'd
           ,
           I
           owe
        
         
           Far
           greater
           Sums
           then
           e'er
           the
           Court
           yet
           gave
        
         
           To
           Pimp
           ,
           or
           Cheat
           ,
           to
           Traytor
           ,
           Whore
           ,
           or
           Knave
           ,
        
         
           Might
           satisfie
           our
           lust
           ,
           or
           sinking
           Credit
           save
           .
        
         
           But
           that
           's
           not
           all
           unless
           we
           do
           declare
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           our
           mark
           upon
           our
           favourites
           fair
           ,
        
         
           That
           Hereticks
           may
           know
           them
           which
           they
           are
           :
        
         
           And
           first
           dear
           Coggs
           with
           thee
           we
           shall
           begin
           ,
        
         
           Altho'
           of
           late
           thou
           wert
           a
           man
           of
           sin
           ,
        
         
           And
           didst
           abuse
           those
           (
           for
           us
           )
           put
           ye
           in
           .
        
         
           From
           which
           we
           now
           absolve
           ye
           as
           we
           're
           Pope
           ,
        
         
           And
           do
           allow
           that
           Butchers
           by
           the
           Rope
           ;
        
         
           Begin
           (
           not
           end
           )
           for
           that
           would
           mar
           our
           hope
           .
        
         
           T
           is
           true
           at
           first
           't
           was
           prudent
           ,
           witty
           ,
           quaint
           ,
        
         
           To
           counter●eit
           the
           Devil
           and
           the
           Saint
           ,
        
         
           With
           zealous
           thunder
           'gainst
           the
           Jesuits
           complaint
           .
        
         
         
           This
           gain'd
           your
           credit
           with
           the
           Rabble
           rout
        
         
           Confirm'd
           the
           choice
           to
           such
           who
           wisht
           you
           out
           ,
        
         
           But
           now
           that
           's
           done
           it's
           time
           to
           look
           about
           :
        
         
           And
           dare
           to
           act
           to
           set
           my
           vassals
           free
           ,
        
         
           You
           shall
           receive
           from
           holy
           James
           and
           me
           ,
        
         
           A
           Crimson
           Cap
           at
           least
           ,
           my
           Legat
           be
           ;
        
         
           Provided
           you
           escape
           
           Tressilian's
           Triple
           tree
           .
        
         
           Next
           hated
           Ralph
           thou
           leader
           of
           the
           van
           ,
        
         
           My
           Papall
           Power
           shall
           doe
           all
           it
           can
        
         
           To
           make
           the
           next
           Election
           senate
           Man
           :
        
         
           And
           reason
           good
           ,
           for
           then
           my
           cause
           would
           thrive
           ,
        
         
           If
           all
           prove
           such
           ,
           the
           Hereticks
           we
           'll
           drive
        
         
           Till
           not
           a
           soul
           of
           them
           be
           left
           alive
           .
        
         
           They
           're
           all
           right
           Roman
           
             H
             —
             H
             —
             D
          
           —
           town
           ,
        
         
           And
           D
           —
           together
           B
           —
           these
           H
           —
           —
        
         
           Sworn
           to
           be
           true
           but
           false
           as
           Iack
           of
           Leydon
           .
        
         
           Next
           were
           two
           Judges
           
             B
             —
             D
          
           —
           never
           right
        
         
           In
           rack
           and
           manger
           lay
           those
           Beast's
           delight
        
         
           Next
           three
           were
           monsters
           ,
           a
           very
           whale
           that
           's
           white
           :
        
         
           Thus
           being
           coller'd
           ,
           all
           together
           swore
        
         
           To
           doe
           such
           Justice
           ,
           ne'er
           was
           done
           before
           :
        
         
           Prostrate
           their
           Wives
           to
           save
           the
           common
           Whore.
        
         
           For
           which
           good
           service
           most
           did
           places
           gain
           ;
        
         
           One
           made
           the
           Whales
           unto
           Charles's
           wain
           ,
        
         
           And
           Tape
           maker
           ,
           light
           man
           did
           obtain
           .
        
         
           Three
           more
           had
           places
           to
           their
           hearts
           desire
           ,
        
         
           Which
           T
           —
           afforded
           ;
           made
           them
           each
           Esquire
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           they
           were
           to
           doe
           ,
           was
           set
           the
           Land
           on
           fire
           .
        
         
           Informing
           D
           —
           that
           's
           Landlord
           to
           Sir
           W
           —
        
         
           To
           save
           his
           Tenent
           Golden
           Pills
           did
           take
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           blessed
           guilt
           before
           did
           make
           him
           quake
           :
        
         
           The
           rest
           had
           Gold
           dropt
           by
           the
           Fairy
           Queen
           ,
        
         
           Left
           in
           their
           shoon
           that
           she
           might
           pass
           unseen
           ;
        
         
           Which
           expell'd
           poyson
           as
           't
           had
           never
           been
           .
        
         
           By
           this
           ,
           my
           Sons
           ,
           ye
           left
           them
           in
           the
           lurch
           ,
        
         
           And
           swept
           the
           scandal
           of
           our
           Holy
           Church
           ;
        
         
           Which
           e'rst
           stood
           tott'ring
           on
           a
           broken
           Crutch
           .
        
         
         
           Strangely
           reviv'd
           my
           Lordly
           Sons
           i●th
           '
           Tower
           ,
        
         
           Who
           now
           (
           transported
           )
           laugh
           to
           scorn
           the
           power
        
         
           Of
           Lords
           and
           Commons
           ,
           from
           whom
           they
           fear'd
           a
           showre
           .
        
         
           And
           o'er
           the
           Hereticks
           have
           '
           dvantage
           got
           ,
        
         
           Who
           stopt
           the
           blest
           proceedings
           of
           my
           Plot
           :
        
         
           No
           oppositions
           left
           but
           th'
           Fanatick
           sot
           .
        
         
           For
           which
           good
           service
           debtors
           we
           remain
           ,
        
         
           Till
           we
           get
           Britain
           in
           our
           Fist
           again
           ,
        
         
           Then
           then
           be
           sure
           we
           'll
           well
           requite
           your
           pain
           .
        
         
           Till
           then
           adieu
           ,
           He
           'll
           have
           you
           in
           it's
           care
           ,
        
         
           And
           ever
           dictate
           what
           you
           say
           or
           swear
           ;
        
         
           May
           make
           you
           usefull
           to
           St.
           
           Peter's
           Chair
           .
        
         
           
             Rome
             
               Iuly
               22
               
                 d.
                 Stylo
                 Novo
              
               .
               1679.
               
            
          
        
      
       
         
           SATYR
           .
        
         
           
             His
             Holiness
             has
             three
             grand
             friends
             ,
          
           
             O
             Great
             
             Britain's
             Shoar
             ,
          
           
             That
             Prosecute
             his
             (
             and
             their
             own
             )
             ends
             ;
          
           
             A
             D
             —
             a
             Judge
             ,
             and
             a
             Whore.
             
          
        
         
           
             The
             D
             —
             is
             as
             true
             as
             steel
          
           
             To
             the
             Pope
             that
             infallib'e
             Else
             ,
          
           
             Therefore
             no
             friend
             to
             the
             Common-weal
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             no
             freind
             unto
             himself
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             Judge
             is
             a
             Butcher's
             Son
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             hates
             to
             shed
             Innocent
             bloud
             :
          
           
             But
             for
             ten
             thousand
             Pound
             has
             done
          
           
             the
             Pope
             a
             great
             deal
             of
             good
             .
          
        
         
           
             He
             that
             villain
             W
             —
             clear'd
             ,
          
           
             Who
             was
             to
             have
             poison'd
             the
             King
             ;
          
           
             As
             it
             most
             plainly
             appeard
             ,
          
           
             For
             which
             he
             deserves
             a
             swing
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             P
             —
             that
             Pocky
             Bitch
             ,
          
           
             A
             damn'd
             Papistical
             Drab
             ,
          
           
             An
             ugly
             deform'd
             Witch
             ,
          
           
             Eaten
             up
             with
             the
             Mange
             and
             Scab
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             French
             Hag's
             Pockey
             Bum
          
           
             So
             powerfull
             is
             of
             late
             ,
          
           
             Although
             it
             's
             both
             blind
             and
             dumb
             ,
          
           
             It
             rules
             both
             Church
             and
             State.
             
          
        
      
       
         
           On
           the
           Monument
           upon
           
             Fish-street
             Hill.
          
           
        
         
           When
           Hodge
           first
           spy'd
           the
           Labour
           in
           vain
        
         
           Grown
           since
           he
           pass'd
           by
           
             Pudding
             Lane
          
           ,
        
         
           To
           reach
           his
           Chin
           up
           as
           he
           gaz'd
           ,
        
         
           Till
           level
           with
           his
           Forehead
           rais'd
           ;
        
         
           With
           Face
           that
           Horizontal
           lies
           ,
        
         
           With
           gaping
           Mouth
           and
           staring
           Eyes
           ,
        
         
           Supporting
           on
           his
           staff
           his
           Jaw
           ,
        
         
           He
           lookt
           the
           hight
           of
           what
           he
           saw
        
         
           As
           one
           that
           makes-an
           observation
           ,
        
         
           Chap-fallen
           he
           stood
           with
           admiration
           .
        
         
           Hodge
           was
           (
           although
           to
           Cart
           confin'd
           )
        
         
           A
           Virtuoso
           in
           his
           kind
           ,
        
         
           And
           long
           he
           stockt
           up
           in
           his
           Crown
        
         
           Whate'er
           he
           saw
           or
           heard
           in
           Town
        
         
           Within
           his
           musty
           Fancy
           mew'd
           ,
        
         
           Heated
           into
           similitude
           ,
        
         
           That
           whatsoever
           subject
           fell
           ,
        
         
           He
           bargains
           ready
           had
           to
           sell
           ,
        
         
           Though
           the
           similitude
           most
           pat
        
         
           Shew
           that
           Men
           say
           they
           know
           not
           what●
        
         
           A
           new
           Spout
           to
           quench
           the
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           to
           draw
           the
           smoke
           up
           higher
           ;
        
         
           A
           modell
           of
           a
           Pepper-box
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Microscope
           to
           view
           an
           Ox
           ,
        
         
         
           Or
           else
           a
           Candlestick
           to
           place
           a
           Light
        
         
           For
           such
           as
           travel
           in
           the
           night
           ;
        
         
           Or
           Christmass
           Candle
           overgrown
           ,
        
         
           Not
           to
           shew
           Light
           ,
           but
           to
           be
           shewn
           ;
        
         
           Or
           else
           a
           Torch
           with
           gilded
           flames
           ,
        
         
           To
           steer
           the
           Boats
           that
           row
           on
           Thames
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           a
           piece
           of
           Art
           and
           Labour
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Hook
           out
           Architecting
           Babor
           .
        
         
           When
           long
           he
           thus
           himself
           had
           guess'd
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           could
           the
           swallow'd
           sight
           digest
           ,
        
         
           He
           ask'd
           a
           Wag
           at
           the
           next
           Stall
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           belongs
           this
           House
           so
           tall
           ?
        
         
           The
           City's
           Monument
           is
           this
           ,
        
         
           In
           token
           that
           our
           Mayor
           did
           piss
           ;
        
         
           It
           seems
           when
           
           London's
           Mayor
           doth
           stale
           ,
        
         
           She
           by
           consent
           too
           lays
           her
           Tail
           ;
        
         
           Bodies
           so
           great
           may
           bear
           th'
           expence
        
         
           Of
           such
           a
           vast
           Sirreverence
           ;
        
         
           But
           't
           is
           a
           heap
           which
           would
           have
           rent
        
         
           All
           but
           the
           City's
           Fundament
           .
        
      
       
         
           The
           D.
           of
           
           M's
           Letter
           to
           the
           K.
           transvers'd
           .
        
         
           Disgrac'd
           ,
           and
           one
           forlorn
           ,
           made
           Fortune's
           sport
           ,
        
         
           Banish'd
           the
           Kingdom
           first
           ,
           and
           now
           the
           Court
           ;
        
         
           Out
           of
           my
           place
           turn'd
           ,
           and
           out
           of
           doors
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           the
           meanest
           of
           your
           Sons
           of
           Whores
           ;
        
         
           The
           scorn
           and
           laughter
           of
           the
           common
           chat
        
         
           Of
           your
           salt
           Bitches
           ,
           and
           your
           silly
           Brats
           ;
        
         
           Forc'd
           to
           a
           private
           life
           ,
           to
           whore
           and
           drink
           ,
        
         
           On
           my
           past
           Grandeur
           and
           my
           Folly
           think
           .
        
         
           Would
           I
           had
           been
           the
           Brat
           of
           some
           mean
           Drab
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           fear
           or
           shame
           had
           made
           her
           choak
           or
           stab
           ,
        
         
           Rather
           than
           be
           the
           Issue
           of
           a
           King
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           him
           made
           so
           wretched
           ,
           scorn'd
           a
           thing
           .
        
         
           What
           little
           cause
           hath
           Mankind
           to
           be
           proud
        
         
           Of
           Honour
           ,
           Birth
           ,
           the
           Idols
           of
           the
           Crowd
           ?
        
         
         
           Have
           I
           abroad
           with
           Battles
           Honour
           wone
           ,
        
         
           To
           be
           at
           home
           dishonourably
           undone
           ?
        
         
           Mock'd
           wit
           a
           Star
           and
           Garter
           ,
           and
           made
           fine
           ,
        
         
           With
           all
           those
           gaudy
           trifles
           once
           call'd
           mine
           ;
        
         
           Your
           Hobby-horses
           ,
           and
           your
           toys
           of
           State
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           become
           the
           object
           of
           your
           hate
           ,
        
         
           But
           Damn
           me
           ,
           Sir
           ,
           I
           'll
           be
           legitimate
        
         
           I
           was
           your
           Darling
           ,
           but
           against
           your
           will
           ,
        
         
           Know
           ,
           Sir
           ,
           that
           I
           will
           be
           the
           People's
           still
           ;
        
         
           And
           when
           you
           're
           dead
           ,
           I
           and
           my
           Friends
           ,
           the
           Rout
           ,
        
         
           Will
           with
           my
           Popish
           Uncle
           try
           a
           bout
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           my
           trouble
           this
           one
           comfort
           bring
           ,
        
         
           Next
           after
           you
           by
           G
           —
           I
           will
           be
           King.
           
        
      
       
         
           The
           Answer
           to
           the
           D.
           of
           
           M's
           Letter
           .
        
         
           Ungratefull
           Boy
           ,
           (
           I
           will
           not
           call
           thee
           Son
           ,
           )
        
         
           Thou
           hast
           thy self
           ingloriously
           undone
           ,
        
         
           And
           thy
           complaints
           serve
           but
           to
           shew
           the
           more
           ,
        
         
           How
           much
           thou
           hast
           engag'd
           thy
           Father's
           Whore
           ;
        
         
           Resent
           it
           not
           ,
           shake
           not
           thy
           addle
           Head
           ,
        
         
           And
           be
           no
           more
           by
           Clubs
           of
           Rascals
           led
           .
        
         
           Have
           I
           made
           thee
           the
           Darling
           of
           my
           Joys
           ,
        
         
           The
           prettiest
           and
           lustiest
           of
           my
           Boys
           ?
        
         
           Have
           I
           so
           oft
           sent
           thee
           to
           the
           Coast
           of
           France
           ,
        
         
           To
           take
           new
           Dresses
           up
           ,
           and
           learn
           to
           dance
           ?
        
         
           Have
           I
           given
           thee
           a
           Ribbon
           and
           a
           Star
           ,
        
         
           And
           sent
           thee
           like
           a
           Meteor
           to
           the
           War
           ?
        
         
           Have
           I
           done
           all
           that
           Royal
           Dad
           could
           doe
        
         
           And
           do
           you
           threaten
           me
           to
           be
           untrue
           ?
        
         
           Oh!
           that
           my
           P
           —
           when
           I
           thy
           Dam
           did
           —
        
         
           Had
           in
           some
           —
           A
           —
           ,
           or
           Cow's
           been
           stuck
           ;
        
         
           Then
           had
           I
           been
           ,
           when
           that
           base
           deed
           was
           done
           ,
        
         
           Sure
           to
           have
           got
           no
           Rebel
           to
           my
           Son.
        
         
           But
           say
           I
           did
           with
           thy
           fond
           Mother
           sport
           ,
        
         
           To
           the
           same
           kindness
           others
           did
           resort
           :
        
         
         
           'T
           was
           my
           good
           Nature
           ,
           and
           I
           meant
           her
           Fame
           ,
        
         
           To
           shelter
           thee
           under
           my
           royal
           Name
           :
        
         
           Alas
           !
           I
           never
           got
           one
           whelp
           alone
           ,
        
         
           My
           Riches
           are
           to
           every
           Fop
           well
           known
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           still
           willing
           all
           their
           Brats
           to
           own
           .
        
         
           I
           made
           thee
           once
           (
           't
           is
           true
           )
           the
           Post
           of
           Grace
           ,
        
         
           And
           stuck
           upon
           thee
           every
           mighty
           Place
           ,
        
         
           Each
           glittering
           Office
           ,
           till
           thy
           heavy
           Brow
        
         
           Grew
           dull
           with
           Honour
           ,
           and
           my
           Power
           low
           .
        
         
           I
           spangled
           thee
           with
           Favours
           ,
           hung
           thy
           Nose
           ,
        
         
           With
           Rings
           of
           Gold
           ,
           and
           Pearls
           ,
           till
           all
           grew
           Foes
           ,
        
         
           By
           secret
           envy
           to
           thy
           growing
           state
           ,
        
         
           I
           lost
           my
           safety
           when
           I
           made
           thee
           great
           .
        
         
           There
           's
           not
           the
           least
           injustice
           to
           be
           shown
           ,
        
         
           You
           must
           be
           ruin'd
           to
           secure
           my
           Throne
           .
        
         
           Offices
           are
           but
           fickle
           Grace
           the
           Badge
           ,
        
         
           Bestow'd
           by
           Fits
           ,
           and
           snatch'd
           away
           in
           Rage
           .
        
         
           And
           sure
           the
           Livery
           I
           give
           my
           Slaves
           ,
        
         
           I
           may
           take
           from
           'em
           when
           my
           P
           —
           raves
           .
        
         
           Thou
           art
           a
           Creature
           of
           my
           own
           creation
           ,
        
         
           Then
           swallow
           this
           without
           Capitulation
           ,
        
         
           If
           you
           with
           feigned
           wrongs
           still
           keep
           a
           clutter
           ,
        
         
           And
           make
           the
           People
           for
           your
           sake
           to
           mutter
           ,
        
         
           For
           my
           own
           comfort
           ,
           but
           your
           trouble
           ,
           know
        
         
           by
           G
           —
           I
           'll
           send
           you
           to
           the
           Rout
           below
           .
        
      
       
         FINIS
         .
      
    
     
  

