Now Footmen, you know, have the generosity to make a Purse for a Member of their Society, who has had his Livery pull'd over his Ears; and even Protestant Socks are bought up among you, out of veneration to the name. A Dissenter in Poetry from Sense and English will make as good a Protestant Rhymer, as a Dissenter from the Church of England a Protestant Parson. Besides, if you encourage a young Beginner, who knows but he may elevate his stile a little above the vulgar epithets of prophane and sawcy Jack, and Atheistick Scribler, with which he treats me, when the fit of Enthusiasm is strong upon him: by which well-mannered and charitable Expressions I was certain of his Sect, before I knew his name. What would you have more of a man? he has damn'd me in your Cause from Genesis to the Revelations : 10 And has half the Texts of both the Testaments against me, if you will be so civil to your selves as to take him for your Interpreter; and not to take them for Irish Witnesses. After all, perhaps you will tell me, that you retain'd him onely for the opening of your Cause, and that your main Lawyer is yet behind. Now if it so happen he meet with no more reply than his Predecessours, you may either conclude that I trust to the goodness of my Cause, or fear my Adversary, or disdain him, or what you please, for the short on't is, 'tis indifferent to your humble servant, whatever your Party says or thinks of him.
A SATYRE AGAINST SEDITION.
Or all our Antick Sights and Pageantry
Which English Idiots run in crowds to see,
The Polish Medal bears the prize alone:
A Monster, more the Favourite of the Town
Than either Fairs or Theatres have shown.
Never did Art so well with Nature strive,
Nor ever Idol seem'd so much alive;
So like the Man; so golden to the sight,
So base within, so counterfeit and light.
One side is fill'd with Title and with Face; 10
And, lest the King shou'd want a regal
Place,
On the reverse, a Tow'r the Town surveys,
Oh, cou'd the Style that copy'd every grace
And plough'd such furrows for an Eunuch
face,
Cou'd it have formed his ever-changing Will,
The various Piece had tir'd the Graver's
Skill!
A Martial Heroe first, with early care
Blown, like a Pigmee by the Winds, to war.
A beardless Chief, a Rebel e'er a Man,
(So young his hatred to his Prince began.)
Next this, (How wildly will Ambition steer!)
A Vermin wriggling in th' Usurper's ear, 31
Bart'ring his venal wit for sums of gold,
O'er which our mounting Sun his beams dis-IIe cast himself into the Saint-like mould; plays.
The Word, pronounc'd aloud by Shrieval voice,
Lalamur, which in Polish is rejoyce,
Groan'd, sigh'd, and pray'd, while Godliness
The lowdest Bag-pipe of the Squeaking train.
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a Juggler's Eyes,
The Day, Month, Year, to the great Act are His open lewdness he cou'd ne'er disguise. join'd,
And a new Canting Holiday design'd.
Five daies he sate for every cast and look;
Four more than God to finish Adam took.
But who can tell what Essence angels are 20
Or how long Heav'n was making Lucifer?
Text from the second edition, 1683, except as
noted. The first edition was of 1682.
7 alive. 1682: alive? 1683.
21 Lucifer?] 1682: Lucifer! 1683.
There split the Saint: for Hypocritique Zeal
Allows no Sins but those it can conceal.
Whoring to Scandal gives too large a scope;
Saints must not trade; but they may inter-
lope.
Th' ungodly Principle was all the same;
But a gross Cheat betrays his Partner's
Game.
Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and
slack;
His nimble Wit out-ran the heavy Pack.
Yet still he found his Fortune at a stay,
Whole droves of Blockheads choaking up his
They took, but not rewarded, his advice; Villain and Wit exact a double price. Pow'r was his aym; but, thrown from that
The Wretch turned loyal in his own defence, [
And Malice reconciled him to his Prince.
Him, in the anguish of his Soul he serv'd;
Rewarded faster still than he deserv'd.
Behold him, now exalted into trust;
His Counsels oft convenient, seldom just ;
Ev'n in the most sincere advice he gave
He had a grudging still to be a Knave.
The Frauds he learnt in his Fanatique years
Made him uneasie in his lawfull gears.
At best as little honest as he cou'd:
And, like white Witches, mischievously good.
To his first byass, longingly he leans;
And rather would be great by wicked means.
Thus fram'd for ill, he loos'd our Triple hold;
(Advice unsafe, precipitous, and bold.)
From hence those tears! that Ilium of our
woe!
Who helps a pow'rful Friend fore-arins a foe. What wonder if the Waves prevail so far, When He cut down the Banks that made the bar? 70
Seas follow but their Nature to invade ;
But he by Art our native Strength betray'd.
So Sampson to his Foe his force confest,
And, to be shorn, lay slumb'ring on her breast.
But, when this fatal Counsel, found too late,
Expos'd its Authour to the publique hate ;
When his just Sovereign, by no impious way,
Cou'd be seduced to Arbitrary sway;
Forsaken of that hope, he shifts the sayle ;)
Drives down the Current with a pop'lar gale;
And shows the Fiend confess'd without a
vail.
Almighty crowd, thou shorten'st all dispute; Power is thy Essence; Wit thy Attribute! Nor Faith nor Reason make thee at a stay, Thou leapst o'er all Eternal truths in thy Pindarique way!
Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide, When Phocion and when Socrates were try'd; As righteously they did those dooms repent; Still they were wise, whatever way they
Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run;
To kill the Father and recall the son. 100 Some think the Fools were most as times went then,
But now the World's o'er stock'd with prudent men.
The common Cry is ev'n Religion's Test;
The Turk's is, at Constantinople, best,
Idols in India, Popery at Rome,
And our own Worship onely true at home, And true, but for the time, 'tis hard to know
How long we please it shall continue so ;
This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns;
So all are God a'mighties in their turns. 110
A Tempting Doctrine, plausible and new;
What Fools our Fathers were, if this be
true!
Who, to destroy the seeds of Civil War,
Inherent right in Monarchs did declare :
And, that a lawfull Pow'r might never cease,
Secur'd Succession, to sccure our Peace.
Thus Property and Sovereign Sway, at last
In equal Balances were justly cast:
But this new Jehu spurs the hot mouth'd
horse;
Instructs the Beast to know his native force :
To take the Bit between his teeth and fly 121
To the next headlong Steep of Anarchy.
Too happy England, if our good we knew
Wou'd we possess the freedom we pursue
The lavish Government can give no more;
Yet we repine; and plenty makes us poor.
God try'd us once; our Rebel-fathers fought;
He glutted 'em with all the Pow'r they
sought,
Till, master'd by their own usurping Brave,
The free-born Subject sunk into a Slave. 130
We loath our Manna, and we long for
Quails;
Ah, what is man, when his own wish prevails!
How rash, how swift to plunge himself in ill;
Proud of his Pow'r and boundless in his Will!
That Kings can doe no wrong we must believe;
None can they do, and must they all receive?
Help Heav'n! or sadly we shall see an hour,
When neither wrong nor right are in their
pow'r !
Already they have lost their best defence,
The benefit of Laws which they dispence. 140
No justice to their righteous Cause allow'd;
But baffled by an Arbitrary Crowd;
And Medalls grav'd, their Conquest to record,
The Stamp and Coyn of their adopted Lord.
The Man who laugh'd but once, to see an
Ass
Mumbling to make the cross-grained Thistles
Might laugh again, to see a Jury chaw
The prickles of unpalatable Law.
The Witnesses that, Leech-like, liv'd on
bloud,
Sucking for them were med'cinally good; 150
But, when they fasten'd on their fester'd
ester'd
Sore,
Then Justice and Religion they forswore, Their Maiden Oaths debauch'd intoaWhore.) Thus Men are rais'd by Factions and decry'd; And Rogue and Saint distinguish'd by their Side.
They rack ev'n Scripture to confess their
Cause;
And plead a Call to preach in spight of Laws.
But that's no news to the poor injur'd Page,
It has been us'd as ill in every Age;
And is constrain'd, with patience, all to
take;
I call'd thee Nile; the parallel will stand:
Thy tydes of Wealth o'erflow the fatten'd
Land;
Yet Monsters from thy large increase we find
Engender'd on the Slyine thou leav'st behind.
Sedition has not wholly seiz'd on thee,
Thy nobler Parts are from infection free.
Of Israel's Tribes thou hast a numerous
band;
But still the Canaanite is in the Land.
Thy military Chiefs are brave and true,
Nor are thy disinchanted Burghers few. 180
The Head is loyal which thy Heart com-
mands,
But what's a Head with two such gouty
Hands?
The wise and wealthy love the surest way;
And are content to thrive and to obey.
But Wisedom is to Sloath too great a Slave;
None are so busy as the Fool and Knave.
Those let me curse; what vengeance will
they urge,
Whose Ordures neither Plague nor Fire can
Nor sharp experience can to duty bring,
Nor angry Heaven nor a forgiving King! 190
In Gospel phrase their Chapmen they betray;
Their Shops are Dens, the Buyer is their
Prey.
The Knack of Trades is living on the Spoil;
They boast e'en when each other they beguile.
Customs to steal is such a trivial thing,
That 'tis their Charter to defraud their King.
All hands unite of every jarring Sect;
They cheat the Country first, and then infect.
They, for God's Cause their Monarchs dare
dethrone,
And they'll be sure to make his Cause their
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"Tis working, in th' immediate Pow'r to be;
For from pretended Grievances they risc,
First to dislike, and after to despise ;
Then, Cyclop-like, in humane Flesh to deal,
Chop up a Minister at every meal;
Perhaps not wholly to melt down the King;
But clip his regal rights within the Ring.
From thence t' assume the pow'r of Peace
and War;
230
And ease him by degrees of publique Care.
Yet, to consult his Dignity and Fame,
He shou'd have leave to exercise the Name,
And hold the Cards while Commons play'd
the game.
For what can Pow'r give more than Food and Drink,
To live at ease, and not be bound to think? |
These are the cooler methods of their Crime,
But their hot Zealots think 'tis loss of time:
On utmost bounds of Loyalty they stand,
And grin and whet like a Croatian band; 240
That waits impatient for the last Command.)
Thus Out-laws open Villainy maintain ;
They steal not, but in Squadrons scoure the
Plain;
And, if their Pow'r the Passengers subdue;
The Most have right, the wrong is in the Few.
Such impious Axiomes foolishly they show;
For in some Soils Republicks will not grow:
Our Temp'rate Isle will no extremes sustain
Of pop'lar Sway or Arbitrary Reign:
But slides between them both into the best;
Secure in freedom, in a Monarch blest. 251
237 their] 1682: the 1683.
What Curses on thy blasted Name will fall! Which Age to Age their Legacy shall call ; For all must curse the Woes that must descend on all.
Religion thou hast none: thy Mercury Has pass'd through every Sect, or theirs through Thee.
But what thou giv'st, that Venom still remains ;
And the pox'd Nation feels Thee in their Brains.
What else inspires the Tongues & swells the
Breasts
Of all thy bellowing Renegado Priests,
That preach up thee for God; dispence thy
Laws;
And with thy Stumm ferment their fainting Cause? 270
Fresh Fumes of Madness raise; and toile and
To make the formidable Cripple great. Yet, shou'd thy Crimes succeed, shou'd lawless Powr
Compass those Ends thy greedy Hopes devour,
Thy Canting Friends thy Mortal Foes wou'd be,
Thy God and Theirs will never long agree;
For thine, (if thou hast any,) must be one
That lets the World and Humane Kind
alone;
A jolly God that passes hours too well
To promise Heav'n, or threaten us with
Hell.
280
That unconcern'd can at Rebellion sit;
And wink at Crimes he did himself commit.
A Tyrant theirs; the Heav'n their Priest-
hood paints
A Conventicle of gloomy sullen Saints;
A Heav'n, like Bedlam, slovenly and sad, Fore-doomed for Souls with false Religion mad.
Without a Vision Poets can fore-show What all but Fools by common Sense may know :
If true Succession from our Isle should fail, And Crowds profane with impious Arms prevail,
Not thou nor those thy Factious Artsingage Shall reap that Harvest of Rebellious Rage, With which thou flatter'st thy decrepit Age. The swelling Poison of the sev'ral Sects, Which, wanting vent, the Nations Health infects
Shall burst its Bag; and fighting out their way,
The various Venoms on each other prey.
The Presbyter, puft up with spiritual Pride,
Shall on the Necks of the lewd Nobles
ride:
His Brethren damn, the Civil Pow'r defy; 300
And parcel out Republique Prelacy.
But short shall be his Reign; his rigid Yoke
And Tyrant Pow'r will puny Sects provoke,
And Frogs, and Toads, and all the Tadpole
Train
Will croak to Ileav'n for help from this devouring Crane.
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