But when his painful gifts h' employs In holding-forth, the virtue lies Not in the letter of the sense, But in the spiritual vehemence,
The power and dispensation of the voice, The zealous pangs and agonies, And heavenly turnings of the eyes; The groans, with which he piously destroys And drowns the nonsense in the noise; And grows so loud, as if he meant to force And take-in Heaven by violence; To fright the saints into salvation, Or scare the Devil from temptation; Until he falls so low and hoarse, No kind of carnal sense
Can be made out of what he means: But as the ancient Pagans were precise To use no short-tail'd beast in sacrifice,
He still conforms to them, and has a care
T' allow the largest measure to his paltry ware.
The ancient churches, and the best, By their own martyrs' blood increas'd; But he has found out a new way, To do it with the blood of those That dare his church's growth oppose, Or her imperious canons disobey; And strives to carry on the work, Like a true primitive reforming Turk, With holy rage and edifying war, More safe and powerful ways by far: For the Turk's patriarch, Mahomet, Was the first great reformer, and the chief Of th' ancient Christian belief,
That mix'd it with new light, and cheat, With revelations, dreams, and visions, And apostolic superstitions,
To be held forth, and carry'd on by war; And his successor was a presbyter, With greater right than Haly or Abubeker.
For, as a Turk, that is to act some crime Against his prophet's holy law, Is wont to bid his soul withdraw, And leave his body for a time;
So, when some horrid action 's to be done, Our Turkish proselyte puts on Another spirit, and lays by his own; And, when his over-heated brain Turns giddy, like his brother Mussulman, He 's judg'd inspir'd, and all his frenzies held To be prophetic and reveal'd.
The one believes all madmen to be saints, Which th' other cries him down for and abhors, And yet in madness all devotion plants, And where he differs most concurs; Both equally exact and just
In perjury and breach of trust;
So like in all things, that one brother
Is but a counterpart of th' other;
And both unanimously damn
And hate (like two that play one game)
And though, in worshipping of God, all blood Was by his own laws disallow'd, Both hold no holy rites to be so good, And both, to propagate the breed Of their own saints, one way proceed; For lust and rapes in war repair as fast, As fury and destruction waste: Both equally allow all crimes,
As lawful means to propagate a sect; For laws in war can be of no effect, And licence does more good in gospel times. Hence 'tis that holy wars have ever been The horrid'st scenes of blood and sin; For, when Religion does recede
From her own nature, nothing but a breed
Of prodigies and hideous monsters can succeed.
'Tis well that equal Heaven has plac'd Those joys above, that to reward The just and virtuous are prepar'd,
Beyond their reach, until their pains are past; Else men would rather venture to possess By force, than earn their happiness; And only take the Devil's advice, As Adam did, how soonest to be wise, Though at th' expense of Paradise: For, as some say, to fight is but a base Mechanic handy-work, and far below A generous spirit to undergo; So 'tis to take the paies to know: Which some, with only confidence and face, More easily and ably do;
For daring nonsense seldom fails to hit, Like scatter'd shot, and pass with some for wit, Who would not rather make himself a judge, And boldly usurp the chair,
Than with dull industry and care Endure to study, think, and drudge, For that which he much sooner may advance With obstinate and pertinacious ignorance?
For all men challenge, though in spite Of Nature and their stars, a right To censure, judge, and know, Though she can only order who Shall be, and who shall ne'er be, wise: Then why should those, whom she denies Her favour and good graces to, Not strive to take opinion by surprise, And ravish what it were in vain to woo? For he that desperately assumes The censure of all wits and arts,
Though without judgment, skill, and parts, Only to startle and amuse,
And mask his ignorance, (as Indians use With gaudy-colour'd plumes
Each other for it, while they strive to do the same. Their homely nether-parts t' adorn)
Both equally design to raise
Their churches by the self-same ways;
With war and ruin to assert
Their doctrine, and with fire and sword convert;
To preach the gospel with a drum,
And for convincing overcome:
Can never fail to captive some,
That will submit to his oraculous doom, And reverence what they ought to scorn; Admire his sturdy confidence,
For solid judgment and deep sense: And credit purchas'd without pains or wit, Like stolen pleasures, ought to be more sweet,
Two self-admirers, that combine
Against the world, may pass a fine
Upon all judgment, sense, and wit, And settle it as they think fit On one another, like the choice
Of Persian princes, by one horse's voice: For those fine pageants which some raise, Of false and disproportion'd praise, T enable whom they please t' appear And pass for what they never were, In private only being but nam'd, Their modesty must be asham'd, And not endure to hear,
And yet may be divulg'd and fam'd, And own'd in public every where: So vain some authors are to boast Their want of ingenuity, and club Their affidavit wits, to dub
Each other but a knight o' the Post,
As false as suborn'd perjurers,
That vouch away all right they have to their own
But, when all other courses fail, There is one easy artifice,
That seldom has been known to miss
To cry all mankind down, and rail: For he whom all men do contemn, May be allow'd to rail again at them, And in his own defence
To outface reason, wit, and sense, And all that makes against himself condemn; To snarl at all things, right or wrong,
Like a mad dog that has a worm in 's tongue; Reduce all knowledge back of good and evil, To its first original, the Devil; And, like a fierce inquisitor of wit,
To spare no flesh that ever spoke or writ; Though to perform his task as dull, As if he had a toadstone in his scull, And could produce a greater stock Of maggots than a pastoral poet's flock.
The feeblest vermin can destroy As sure as stoutest beasts of prey, And, only with their eyes and breath, Infect and poison men to death;
But that more impudent buffoon,
That makes it both his business and his sport To rail at all, is but a drone,
That spends his sting on what he cannot hurt;. Enjoys a kind of lechery in spite,
Like o'ergrown sinners, that in whipping take delight; Invades the reputation of all those That have, or have it not, to lose;
And, if he chance to make a difference,
'Tis always in the wrongest sense:
As rooking gamesters never lay
Upon those hands that use fair play,
But venture all their bets
And whips and spurs himself because he is outgone; Makes idle characters and tales,
As counterfeit, unlike, and false,
As witches' pictures are, of wax and clay,
To those whom they would in effigie slay.
And, as the Devil, that has no shape of 's own, Affects to put the ugliest on,
And leaves a stink behind him when he 's gone, So he that 's worse than nothing strives t' appear I' th' likeness of a wolf or bear,
To fright the weak; but when men dare Encounter with him, stinks and vanishes to air.
TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF
THE MOST RENOWNED DU-VAL.
'Tis true, to compliment the dead Is as impertinent and vain,
As 'twas of old to call them back again, Or, like the Tartars, give them wives, With settlements for after-lives: For all that can be done or said, Though e'er so noble, great, and good, By them is neither heard nor understood. All our fine sleights and tricks of art, First to create, and then adore desert, And those romances which we frame, To raise ourselves, not them, a name, In vain are stuft with ranting flatteries, And such as, if they knew, they would despise. For, as those times the Golden Age we call, In which there was no gold in use at all; So we plant glory and renown
Where it was ne'er deserv'd nor known, But to worse purpose, many times,
To flourish o'er nefarious crimes,
And cheat the world, that never seems to mind How good or bad men die, but what they leave behind.
And yet the brave Du-Val, whose name
Can never be worn out by Fame;
That liv'd and dy'd to leave behind A great example to mankind; That fell a public sacrifice,
From ruin to preserve those few,
Who, though born false, may be made true, And teach the world to be more just and wise; Ought not, like vulgar ashes, rest Unmentioned in his silent chest,
Not for his own, but public interest. He, like a pious man, some years before The arrival of his fatal hour,
Made every day he had to live To his last minute a preparative;
Upon the slurs and cunning tricks of ablest cheats. Taught the wild Arabs on the road
Nor does he vex himself much less
Than all the world beside;
Falls sick of other men's excess, Is humbled only at their pride, And wretched at their happiness; Revenges on himself the wrong
Which his vain malice and loose tongue, To those that feel it not, have done,
To act in a more gentle mode:
Take prizes more obligingly than those,
Who never had been bred filous;
And how to hang in a more graceful fashion,
Than e'er was known before to the dull English nation.
In France, the staple of new modes,
Where garbs and miens are current goods;
That serves the ruder northern nations With methods of address and treat; Prescribes new garnitures and fashions, And how to drink and how to eat No out-of-fashion wine or meat;
To understand cravats and plumes,
And the most modish from the old perfumes; To know the age and pedigrees
Of points of Flanders or Venice; Cast their nativities, and, to a day,
Foretel how long they 'll hold, and when decay; T'affect the purest negligences In gestures, gaits, and miens, And speak by repartee-rotines
Out of the most authentic of romances,
And to demonstrate, with substantial reason, What ribbands, all the year, are in or out of season:
In this great academy of mankind He had his birth and education,
Where all men are so ingeniously inclin'd, They understand by imitation, Improve untaught, before they are aware,
As if they suck'd their breeding from the air, That naturally does dispense
To all a deep and solid confidence;
A virtue of that precious use,
That he, whom bounteous Heaven endues
But with a moderate share of it,
Can want no worth, abilities, or wit, In all the deep Hermetic arts
(For so of late the learned call All tricks, if strange and mystical). He had improv'd his natural parts, And with his magic rod could sound Where hidden treasure might be found: He, like a lord o' th' manor, seiz'd upon Whatever happen'd in his way,
As lawful weft and stray,
And after, by the custom, kept it as his own.
From these first rudiments he grew To nobler feats, and try'd his force Upon whole troops of foot and horse, Whom he as bravely did subdue; Declar'd all caravans, that go Upon the king's highway, the foe; Made many desperate attacks Upon itinerant brigades
Of all professions, ranks, and trades,
On carrier's loads, and pedlars' packs;
Made them lay down their arms, and yield, Antl, to the smallest piece, restore
All that by cheating they had gain'd before, And after plunder'd all the baggage of the field. In every bold affair of war
He had the chief command, and led them on; For no man is judg'd fit to have the care Of others' lives, until he 'as made it known How much he does despise and scorn his own.
Whole provinces, 'twixt Sun and Sun, Have by his conquering sword been won; And mighty sums of money laid, For ransom, upon every man, And hostages deliver'd till 'twas paid. Th' excise and chimney-publican, The Jew-forestaller and enhancer, To him for all their crimes did answer. He vanquish'd the most fierce and fell Of all his foes, the constable;
And oft had beat his quarters up, And routed him and all his troop. He took the dreadful lawyer's fees, That in his own allow'd highway Does feats of arms as great as his, And, when th' encounter in it, wins the day: Safe in his garrison, the court,
Where meaner criminals are sentenc'd for 't, To this stern foe he oft gave quarter, But as the Scotchman did to' a Tartar, That he, in time to come,
Might in return from him receive his fatal doom.
He would have starv'd this mighty town, And brought its haughty spirit down; Have cut it off from all relief, And, like a wise and valiant chief, Made many a fierce assault Upon all ammunition carts,
And those that bring up cheese, or malt, Or bacon, from remoter parts;
No convoy e'er so strong with food Durst venture on the desperate road; He made th' undaunted waggoner obey, And the fierce higgler contribution pay; The savage butcher and stout drover
Durst not to him their feeble troops discover; And, if he had but kept the field,
In time had made the city yield;
For great towns, like to crocodiles, are found I' th' belly aptest to receive a mortal wound.
But when the fatal hour arriv'd
In which his stars began to frown,
And had in close cabals contriv'd
To pull him from his height of glory down, And he, by numerous foes opprest,
Was in th' enchanted dungeon cast, Secur'd with mighty guards,
Lest he, by force or stratagem,
Might prove too cunning for their chains and them, And break through all their locks, and bolts, and
Had both his legs by charms committed
To one another's charge,
That neither might be set at large,
And all their fury and revenge outwitted.
As jewels of high value are
Kept under locks with greater care
Than those of meaner rates,
So he was in stone walls, and chains, and iron grates.
Thither came ladies from all parts,
To offer up close prisoners their hearts; Which he receiv'd as tribute due,
And made them yield up Love and Honour too, But in more brave heroic ways
Than e'er were practis'd yet in plays: For those two spiteful foes, who never meet But full of hot contests and piques About punctilios and mere tricks, Did all their quarrels to his doom submit, And, far more generous and free,
In contemplation only of him did agree, Both fully satisfy'd; the one
With those fresh laurels he had won, And all the brave renowned feats
He had perform'd in arms;
The other with his person and his charms : For, just as larks are catch'd in nets,
By gazing on a piece of glass,
So, while the ladies view'd his brighter eyes, And smoother polish'd face,
Their gentle hearts, alas! were taken by surprise.
Never did bold knight, to relieve
Distressed dames, such dreadful feats achieve, As feeble damsels, for his sake,
Would have been proud to undertake; And, bravely ambitious to redeem The world's loss and their own,
Strove who should have the honour to lay down And change a life with him;
But, finding all their hopes in vain
To move his fixt determin'd fate, Their life itself began to hate,
As if it were an infamy
To live when he was doom'd to die; Made loud appeals and moans,
To less hard-hearted grates and stones;
Came, swell'd with sighs, and drown'd in tears, To yield themselves his fellow-sufferers, And follow'd him, like prisoners of war,
Chain'd to the lofty wheels of his triumphaut car.
Wherefore 'twas thought good To add Honeywood;
But when they came to trial, Each one prov'd a fool, Yet three knaves in the whole, And that made up a pair-royal.
TO BE ON OLIVER CROMWELL.
DRAW near, good people all, draw near, And hearken to my ditty;
A stranger thing Than this I sing Came never to this city.
Had you but seen this monster, You would not give a farthing For the lions in the grate, Nor the mountain-cat, Nor the bears in Paris-garden. You would defy the pageants Are borne before the mayor; The strangest shape You e'er did gape Upon at Bart'lmy fair!
His face is round and decent, As is your dish or platter,
On which there grows
A thing like a nose,
But, indeed, it is no such matter.
On both sides of th' aforesaid
Are eyes, but they 're not matches,
On which there are
To be seen two fair
And large well-grown mustaches.
Now this with admiration
Does all beholders strike, That a beard should grow Upon a thing's brow, Did ye ever see the like?
He has no scull, 'tis well known To thousands of beholders; Nothing but a skin
Does keep his brains in From running about his shoulders.
On both sides of his noddle
Are straps o' th' very same leather; Ears are imply'd,
But they 're mere hide,
Or morsels of tripe, choose ye whether.
Between these two extendeth
A slit from ear to ear,
That every hour
Gapes to devour
The sowce that grows so near.
he, out of fear of some republican zealots in his party, refused to accept, and contented himself with the power, under the name of Protector.
Beneath, a tuft of bristles, As rough as a frize jerkin; If it had been a beard, "Twould have serv'd a herd Of goats, that are of his near kin.
Within, a set of grinders
Most sharp and keen, corroding Your iron and brass
That you would do a pudding.
But the strangest thing of all is, Upon his rump there groweth A great long tail, That useth to trail
Upon the ground as he goeth.
THIS monster was begotten Upon one of the witches,
B' an imp that came to her, Like a man, to woo her,
With black doublet and breeches.
When he was whelp'd, for certain, In divers several countries
The hogs and swine
Did grunt and whine,
And the ravens croak'd upon trees. The winds did blow, the thunder And lightning loud did rumble; The dogs did howl,
The hollow tree in th' owl
"Tis a good horse that ne'er stumbled.
As soon as he was brought forth,
At the midwife's throat he flew, And threw the pap Down in her lap; They say 'tis very true.
And up the walls he clamber'd, With nails most sharp and keen, The prints whereof, I' th' boards and roof, Are yet for to be seen. And out o' th' top o' th' chimney He vanish'd, seen of none; For they did wink, Yet by the stink Knew which way he was gone. The country round about there Became like to a wildern- -ness; for the sight Of him did fright
Away men, women, and children.
Long did he there continue,
And all those parts much harmed, Till a wise-woman, which Some call a white witch, Him into a hogsty charmed. There, when she had him shut fast, With brimstone and with nitre, She sing'd the claws Of his left paws,
With tip of his tail, and his right ear.、
And with her charms and ointments
She made him tame as a spaniel; For she us'd to ride
On his back astride, Nor did he do her any ill.
But, to the admiration Of all both far and near,
He hath been shown In every town,
And eke in every shire.
And now, at length, he 's brought Unto fair London city,
Where in Fleet-street All those may see 't
That will not believe my ditty.
God save the king and parliament, And eke the prince's highness, And quickly send
The wars an end,
As here my song has-Finis.
MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS. ALL men's intrigues and projects tend, By several courses, to one end; To compass, by the properest shows, Whatever their designs propose; And that which owns the fairest pretext Is often found the indirect'st. Hence 'tis that hypocrites still paint Much fairer than the real saint,
And knaves appear more just and true Than honest men, that make less shew: 'The dullest idiots in disguise Appear more knowing than the wise; Illiterate dunces, undiscern'd, Pass on the rabble for the learn'd; And cowards, that can damn and rant, Pass muster for the valiant: For he, that has but impudence, To all things has a just pretence, And, put among his wants but shame, To all the world may lay his claim.
How various and innumerable Are those who live upon the rabble! 'Tis they maintain the church and state, Employ the priest and magistrate; Bear all the charge of government, And pay the public fines and rent; Defray all taxes and excises, And impositions of all prices; Bear all th' expense of peace and war, And pay the pulpit and the bar; Maintain all churches and religions, And give their pastors exhibitions; And those who have the greatest flocks Are primitive and orthodox; Support all schismatics and sects, And pay them for tormenting texts; Take all their doctrines off their hands, And pay them in good rents and lands; Discharge all costly offices,
The doctor's and the lawyer's fees, The hangman's wages, and the scores Of caterpillar bawds and whores;
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