do next foul they try Vote him the City Scavenger they cry Send him to fcowr their Streets Well let it be Your Rumpship wants a fcowring too thinks he That foul house where your Worships many year Have laid your Tail sure wants a Scavenger I smell your Fizzle though it make no Crack You 'ld mount me on the Cities galled Back In hope she 'll cast her Rider If I must Upon some Office in the Town be thrust I 'le be their Sword-bearer and to their Dagger I 'le joyn my Sword Nay good Rump do not swagger The City feasts me and as sure as Gun I 'le mend all Englands Commons e're I 've done XII ANd so he did One morning next his heart He goes to Westminster and play'd his part He vampt their boots which Hewson ne'r could do With better leather made them g'upright too The Restor'd Members Cato-like no doubt Did only enter that They might go out They did not mean within those Walls to dwell Nor did they like their Company so well Yet Heav'n so blest them that in three weeks space They gave both Church and State a better face They gave Boath Massy Brown some kinder lots The last years Traytors this years Patriots The Churches poor Remainder they made good And wash'd the Nations Hands of Royal Blood And that a Parliament they did devise From its own ashes Phaenix-like might rise This done By Act and Deed that might not fail They past a Fine and so cut off th' Entail XIII LEt the Bells ring these Changes now from Bow Down to the Country Candlesticks below Ringers hands off The Bells themselves will dance In memory of their own deliverance Had not George shew'd his Metal and said Nay Each Sectary had born the Bell away Down with them all they 'r Christned cry'd that Crew Tye up their Clappers and the Parsons too Turn them to Guns or sell them to the Dutch Nay hold quoth George my Masters that 's too much You will not leap o're Steeples thus I hope I 'le save the Bells but you may take the Rope Thus lay Religion panting for her life Like Isaac bound under the bloody knife George held the falling Weapon sav'd the Lamb Let Lambert in the Briars be the Ram. So lay the Royal Virgin as 't is told When brave S. George redeem'd her life of old Oh that the Knaves that have consum'd our Land Had but permitted Wood enough to stand To be his Bonfires Wee 'd burn every stem And leave no more but Gallow-trees for them XIV MArch on Great Heroe as thou hast begun And crown our Happiness before th' ast done We have another CHARLES to fetch from Spain Be thou the GEORGE to bring him back again Then shalt thou be what was deny'd that Knight Thy Princes and the Peoples Favorite There is no danger of the Winds at all Unless together by the Ears they fall Who shall the honour have to waft a King And they who gain it while they work shall sing Methinks I see how those Triumphant Gales Proud of the great Enployment swell the Sails The joyful Ship shall dance the Sea shall laugh And loyal Fish their Masters health shall quaff See how the Dolphins croud and thrust their large And scaly shoulders to assist the Barge The peaceful Kingfishers are met together About the Decks and prophesie calm weather Poor Crabs and Lobsters are gone down to creep And search for Pearls and Jewels in the deep And when they have the booty crawl before And leave them for his welcome to the Shore XV. ME-thinks I see how throngs of people stand Scarce patient till the Vessel come to Land Ready to leap in and if need require With Tears of Joy to make the waters higher But what will London do I doubt Old Paul With bowing to his Soveraign will fall The Royal Lyons from the Tower shall roar And though they see him not yet shall adore The Conduits will be ravish'd and combine To turn their very water into Wine And for the Citizens I only pray They may not over-joy'd all die that day May we all live more loyal and more true To give to Caesar and to God their due Wee 'l make his Fathers Tomb with tears to swim And for the Son we 'll shed our blood for him England her penitential Song shall sing And take heed how she quarrels with her King If for our sins our Prince shall be misled Wee 'l bite our nails rather than scratch our head XVI ONe English George out-weighs alone by odds A whole Committee of the Heathens Gods Pronounce but Monck and it is all his due He is our Mercury Mars and Neptune too Monck what great Xerxes could not prov'd the man That with a word shackled the Ocean He shall command Neptune himself to bring His Trident and present it to our King Oh do it then great Admiral Away Let him be here against St. George's day That Charls may wear His Dieu Et Mon Droit And Thou the Noble Garter'd Honi Soit And when thy Aged Corps shall yield to Fate God save that soul that sav'd our Church and State There thou shalt have a glorious Crown I know Who Crown'dst our King and Kingdoms here below But who shall find a Pen fit for thy glory Or make Posterity believe thy Story Vive St. GEORGE THE TRAGEDY OF Mr. Christopher Love Late Minister of the Gospel Acted upon TOWER-HILL August 22. 1651. The Prologue NEw from a slaughter'd Monarchs Hearse I come A Mourner to a Martyr'd Prophet's Tomb Pardon great Charls his Ghost my Muse had stood Yet three years longer till sh 'had wept a Flood Too mean a Sacrifice for Royal Blood But she must go Heav'n does by Thunder call For her Attendance at LOVE's Funeral Forgive great Sir this Sacriledged in me The tenth Tear he must have it is his Fee 'T is due to him and yet 't is stoln from Thee The Argument 'T was when the Raging Dog did rule the Skies And with his scorching Face did tyrannize When cruel Cromwel Whelp of that mad Star But sure more fiery than his Sire by far Had dry'd the Northern Fife and with his heat Put frozen Scotland in a Bloody Sweat When he had conquer'd and his furious Train Had chas'd the North-Bear pursu'd Charls Wain Into the English Orb then 't was thy fate Sweet LOVE to be a Present from our State A greater Sacrifice there could not come Than a Divine to bleed his Welcome home For He and Herod think no Dish so good As a John Baptists Head serv'd up in Blood ACT. I. The Philistims are set in their High Court And Love like Samson's fetch'd to make them sport Unto the Stake the smiling Prisoner's brought Not to be try'd but baited most men thought Monsters like Men must worry him and thus He fights with Beasts like Paul at Ephesus Adams Far Huntington with all the Pack Of foisting Hounds were set upon his Back
clapt up you another me But oh the difference too is very great You are allow'd to walk to drink and eat I want them all and never a penny get And though you be debarr'd your liberty Yet all your Visitors I hope are free Good Men good Women and good Angels come And make your Prison better then your home Now may it be so till your foes repent They gave you such a rich Imprisonment May for the greater comfort of your lives Your lying in be better then your Wives May you a thousand friendly papers see And none prove empty except this from me And if you stay may I come keep your door Then farewel Parsonage I shall ne'r be poor ON THE DEATH OF M R. CALAMY Not known to the Author of a long time after Anno 1667. ANd must our Deaths be silenc'd too I guess 'T is some dumb Devil hath possest the Press Calamy dead without a Publication 'T is great injustice to our English Nation For had this Prophet's Funeral been known It must have had an Universal Groan Afflicted London would then have been found In the same year to be both burn'd and drown'd And those who found no Tears their flames to quench Would yet have wept a Showre his Herse to drench Methinks the Man who stuffs the Weekly Sheet With fine New-Nothings what hard Names did meet The Emp'ress how her Petticoat was lac'd And how her Lacquyes Liveries were sac'd What 's her chief Woman's Name what Dons do bring Almonds and Figs to Spain's great little King Is much concern'd if the Pope's Toe but akes When he breaks Wind and when a Purge he takes He who can gravely advertise and tell Where Lockier and Ronland Pippin dwell Where a Black Box or Green-Bag was lost And who was Knighted though not what it cost Methinks he might have thought it worth the while Though not to tell us who the State begnile Or what new Conquest England hath acquired Nor that poor Trifle who the City fired Though not how Popery exalts its head And Priests and Jesuits their poyson spread Yet in swoln Characters he might let fly The Presbyterians have lost an Eye Had Crackf 's Fiddle been in tune but he Is now a Silenc'd Man as well as We He had struck up loud Musick and had plaid A Jig for joy that Calamy was laid He would have told how many Coaches went How many Lords and Ladies did lament What Handkerchiefs were sent and in them Gold To wipe the Widows he would have told All had come out and we beholden all To him for th' ovreflowing of his gall But why do I thus Rant without a cause Is not Concealment Policy Whose Laws My silly peevish Muse doth ill t' oppose For publick Losses no Man should disclose And such was this a greater loss by far One Man of God then twenty Men of War It was a King who when a Prophet dy'd Wept over him and Father Father cry'd O if thy Life and Ministry be done My Chariots and Horsemen strength is gone I must speak sober words for well I know If Saints in Heaven do hear us here below A lye though in his Praise would make him frown And chide me when with Jesus he comes down To judge the World This little He This silly sickly silenc'd Calamy Aldermanbury's Curate and no more Though he a mighty Miter might have wore Could have vi'd Interest in God or Man With the most pompous Metropolitan How have we known him captivate a throng And made a Sermon twenty thousand strong And though black-mouths his Loyalty did charge How strong his tug was at the Royal Barge To hale it home great GEORGE can well attest Then when poor Prelacy lay dead in'ts nest For if a Collect could not fetch him home Charles must stay out that Interest was mum Nor did Ambition of a Miter make Him serve the Crown it was for Conscience-sake Unbribed Loyalty his highest reach Was to be Master Calamy and preach He bless'd the King who Bishop him did name And I bless him who did refuse the same O! had our Reverend Clergy been as free To serve their Prince without Reward as he They might have had less Wealth with greater Love Envy like Winds endangers things above Worth not Advancement doth beget esteem The highest Weathercock the least doth seem If you would know of what disease he dy'd His grief was Chronical it is reply'd For had he opened been by Surgeons art They had found London burning in his heart How many Messengers of death did he Receive with Christian Magnanimity The Stone Gout Dropsie Ills which did arise Form Griefs and Studies not from Luxuries The Megrim too which still strikes at the Head These he stood under and scarce staggered Might he but work though loaded with these Chains He Pray'd and Preach'd and sung away his pains Then by a fatal Bill he was struck dead And though that blow he ne're recovered For he remained speechless to his close Yet did he breath and breath out Prayers for those From whom he had that wound he liv'd to hear An hundred thousand buried in one Year In his Dear City over which he wept And many Fasts to keep off Judgments kept Yet yet he liv'd stout heart he liv'd to be Depriv'd driv'n out and kept out liv'd to see Wars Blazing-Stars Torches which Heav'n nev'r burns But to light Kings or Kingdoms to their Urns. He liv'd to see the Glory of our Isle London consumed in its Funeral Pile He liv'd to see that lesser day of Doom London the Priests Burnt-sacrifice to Rome That blow he could not stand but with that Fire As with a Burning Feaver did expire Thus dy'd this Saint of whom it must be said He dy'd a Martyr though he dy'd in 's bed So Father Eli in the Sacred page Sat quivering with fear as much as age Longing to know yet loth to ask the News How it far'd with the Army of the Jews Israel flies that struck his Palsie-head The next blow stunned him Your Sons are dead But when the third stroke came The Ark is lost His heart was wounded and his life it cost Thus fell this Father and we well do know He fear'd our Ark was going long ago The EPITAPH HEre a poor Minister of Christ doth lie Who did INDEED a Bishoprick deny When his Lord comes then then the World shall see Such bumble Ones the rising-Men shall be How many Saints whom he had sent before Shouted to see him enter Heavens door There his blest Soul beholds the face of God While we below groan out our Ichabod Under his burned-Church his Body lies But shall it self a glorious Temple rise May his kind flock when a new Church they make Call it St. Edmundsbury for his sake R. W. THE Loyal-Nonconformist OR An Account what he dare swear and what he dare not swear Published in the year 1666. I Fear an Oath before I swear to take it And well I
Iter Boreale With large Additions of several other POEMS BEING An EXACT COLLECTION of all hitherto Extant Never before Published together The Author R. Wild D. D. Printed for the Booksellers in London MDCLXVIII MVNIFICENTIA REGIA 1715. GEORGIVS D. G. MAG BR FR. ET HIB REX F. D. J. Pâ—â—â— Sculp Iter Boreale Attempting somthing upon the Successful and Matchless March of the LORD GENERAL George Monck From SCOTLAND to LONDON in the Winter 1659. I. THe day is broke Melpomene be gone Hag of my Fancy let me now alone Night-mare my Soul no more Go take thy flight Where Traitors Ghosts keep an eternal night Flee to Mount Caucasus and bear thy part With the black fowl that tears Prometheus heart For his bold Sacriledg Go fetch the groans Of defunct Tyrants with them croke thy Tones Go see Alecto with her flaming whip How she fiâ—ks Nol and makes old Bradshaw skip Go make thy self away Thou shalt no more Choak up my Standâ—sh with the blood and gore Of English Tragedies I now will chuse The merriest of the nine to be my Muse And come what will â—le scribble once again The 〈◊〉 Sword hath cut the nobler Vein Of racy Poetry Our small-drink-times Must be contented and take up with Rhimes They 'r sorry toyes from a poor Levites pack Whose Living and Assesments drink no Sack The Subject will excuse the Verse I trow The Ven son's fat although the crust be dough II. I He who whileom sate and sung in Cage My Kings and Countries Ruines by the rage Of a rebellious Rout wâ—o weeping saw Three goodly Kingdoms drunk with fury draw And sheath their Swords like three engaged brotheâ—s In one anothers sides ripping their Mothers Belly and tearing out her bleeding heart Then jealous that their Father fain would part Their bloody fray and let them fight no more Fell foul on Him and slew Him at His dore I that have only dar'd to whisper Verses And drop a tear by stealth on loyal Hearses I that enraged at the Times and Rump Had gnaw'd my Goose-quill to the very stump And flung that in the Fire no more to write But to sit down poor Britains Heraclite Now sing the triumphs of the Men of War The Glorious Rayes of the bright Northern Star Created for the nonce by Heaven to bring The wise men of three Nations to their King MONCK the great Monck that syllable out-shines Plantagenet's bright Name or Constantine's 'T was at His Rising that Our Day begun Be he the Morning Star to CHARLES our Sun He took Rebellion rampant by the throat And made the Canting Quaker change his Note His hand it was that wrote we saw no more Exit Tyrannus over Lamberts dore Like to some subtle Lightning so His Words Dissolved in their Scabbards Rebels Swords He with success the Soveraign skill hath found To dress the Weapon and to heal the Wound George and his Boyes as Spirits do they say Only by walking scare our Foes away III. OLd Holofernes was no sooner laid Before the Idols Funeral Pomp was paid Nor shall a penny ere be paid for me Let fools that trusted his true Mourners be Richard the Fourth just peeping out of Squire No fault so much as th' old one was his Sire For men believ'd though all went in his Name Hee 'd be but Tenant till the Landlord came When on a sudden all amaz'd we found The seven years Babel tumbled to the ground And he poor heart thanks to his cunning Kin Was soon in Querpo honest Dick agen Exit Protector What comes next I trow Let the State-Huntsmen beat again So-ho Cries Lambert Master of the Hounds Here sits That lusty Puss The Good Old Cause whos 's wits Shew'd Oliver such sport That that cries Vane Le ts put her up and run her once again She 'l lead our Dogs and Followers up and down Whilst we match Families and take the Crown Enter th' old Members 'T was the Month of May These Maggots in the Rump began to play Wallingford Anglers though they stunk yet thought They would make baits by which Fish might be caught And so it prov'd they soon by taxes made More money than the Holland Fishing Trade IV. NOw broke in Egypts Plagues all in a day And one more worse than theirs We must not pray To be deliver'd Their scab'd folks were free To scratch where it did itch So might not we That Meteor Cromwel though he scar'd gave light But we were now cover'd with horrid night Our Magistracy was like Moses Rod Turn'd to a Serpent by the angry God Poor Citizens when Trading would not do Made brick without straw and were blasted too Struck with the botch of Taxes and Excise Servants our very dust were turn'd to Lice It was but turning Souldiers and they need Not work at all but on their Masters feed Strange Catterpillars are our pleasant things And Frogs croakt in the Chambers of our Kings Black bloody veins did in the Rump prevail Like the Philistims Emrods in the Tayle Lightning Hall Fire and Thunder Egypt had And England Guns Shot Powder that 's as bad And that Sea-Monster Lawson if withstood Threatned to turn our Rivers into Blood And Plague of all these Plagues all these Plagues fell Not on an Egypt but our Israel V. SIck as her heart can hold the Nation lies Filling each corner with her hideous cries Somtimes Rage like a burning Fever hearts Anon Despair brings cold and clammy Sweats She cannot sleep or if she doth she dreams Of Rapes Thefts Burnings Blood and direful theams Tosses from side to side then by and by Her feet are laid there where the head did lie None can come to her but bold Empericks Who never meant to cure her but try tricks Those very Doctors who should give her ease God help the Patient was her worst disease Th' Italian Mountebank Vane tells her sure Jesuits Powder will effect the Cure If grief but makes her swell Martin and Nevil Conclude it is a spice of the Kings-Evil Bleed her again another cries And Scot Saith he could cure her if 't was you know what But giddy Harrington a whimsey found To make her head like to his brains run round Her old and wise Physitians who before Had well nigh cur'd her came again to th' dore But were kept out which made her cry the more Help help dear Children Oh! some pity take On her who bore you help for mercy sake Oh heart Oh head Oh back Oh bones I feel They 've poyson'd me with giving too much steel Oh give me that for which I long and cry Somthing that 's Soveraign or else I dye VI. KInd Cheshire heard And like some son that stood Upon the Bank straight jump'd into the flood Flings out his arms strikes som strokes to sivim Booth ventur'd first and Middleton with him Stout Mackworth Egerton and thousands more Threw themselves in and left the safer shore Massey that famous Diver and bold Brown Forsook his
Learning my poor Parents brought up me And sent me to the Universitie There I soon found bowing the way to rise And th' only Logick was the Falacies In stead of Aristotles Organon Anthems and Organs I did study on If I could play on them I soon did find I rightly had Preferment in the wind I follow'd that hot scent without controul I bow'd my body and I sung Fa Sol I cozen'd Doctor Couzens and ere long A Fellow ship obtained for a Song Then by degrees I climb'd until I got Good Friends good Cloaths good Commons and what not I got so long until at length I got A Wench with Child and then I got a blot Before the Consistory I was try'd Where like a Villain I both swore and ly'd And from the whore I made I was made free By purging of my self Incont'nent-LEE But as I scorn'd to father mine own Brat 'T was done to me as I had done with That The Doctors all when Doctor I would be As a base son refus'd to father me With much ado at length by art and cunning My Tears Vows prevail'd with Peter Gunning Me to adopt and for his love and care I will devote my self to Peter's Chair Cambridge I left with grief and great disgrace To seek my fortune in some other place And that I might the better save my stake I took an Order and did Orders take Amongst Conformists I my self did list A Son o' th Church as good as ever pist But though I bow'd and cring'd crost all I only got a Vicarage very small Ere I was warm and warm I ne're had bin In such a starved hole as I was in A Fire upon the Church and Kingdom came Which I straight helpt to blow into a flame The Third Part. MY Conscience first like Balaam's Asse was shy Bogled and winc'd which when I did espy I cudgeld her and spur'd her on each side Until the Jade her paces all could ride When first I mounted on her tender back She would not leave the Protestant dull Rack Till in her mouth the Cov'nant Bit I got And made her learn the Presbyterian Trot 'T was an hard Trot and fretted her alas The Independent Amble easier was I taught her that and out of that to fall To the Tantivy of Prelaâ—ical I rode her once to Rumford with a pack Of Arguments for th' Cov'nant on her back That Journey she perform'd at such a rate Th ' Committee gave me a rich piece of Plate From Hatfield to St. Albans I did ride The Army call'd for me to be their Guide There I so spurd her that I made her fling Not only dirt but blood upon my King When Cromwel turn'd his Masters out by force I made the Beast draw like a Brewers horse Under the Rump I made her wear a Crooper And under Lambert she became a Trooper When Noble Monk the KING did home conveigh She like Darius Steed began to neigh. I taught her since to Organ Pipes to prance As Banks his Horse could to a Fiddle dance Now with a Snaffle or a twined thread To any Government she 'l turn her head I have so broke her she doth never start And that 's the meaning of my broken heart I have found out a cunning way with ease To make her cast her Coat when ere I please And if at Rack and Manger she may be Her Colts tooth she will keep most Wanton-LEE I 'l change as often as the Man i' th Moon His frequent Changing makes him rise so soon To eat Church Plumb-broth e're it all be gone I 'le have the Devil's spoon but I 'le have One. For many years my Tongue did lick the Rump But when I saw a KING was turn'd up Trump I did resolve still in my hand to have One winning Card although 't were but a Knave If the Great Turk to England come I can Make Gospel truckle to the Alchoran And if their Turkish Sabbaths should take place I have in readiness my Friday face If lock in Iron Chest as we are told A Loadstone their great Mahomet can hold The Loadstone of Preferment I presage To Mahomet may draw this Iron Age. The Congregation way best pleas'd my mind There were more Shee s and they most free and kind By Chamber practice I did better thrive Than all my Livings though I skimmed five Mine Eyes are open now my Sins to see With Tears I cry Good People Pardon me My Reverend Fathers Pardon I do crave And hope my Mothers Blessing yet to have My Cambridge sins my Bugden sins are vile My Essex sins my sins in Ely-Isle My Leicester sins my Hatfield sins are many But my St. Albans sins more red than any To CHARLES the first I was a bloody foe I wish I do not serve the Second so The only way to make me leave that trick Is to bestow on me a Bishoprick This is St. Andrews Eve and for his sake A Bishoprick in Scotland I could take And though a Metropolitan there be I 'de be as Sharp and full as Arch as he Now may this Sermon never be forgot Let others call 't a Sermon I a Plot A Plot that takes if it believed be If not I shall repent Unfained-LEE I must desire the Crack-fart of the Nation With rev'rance to let fly this Recantation Our Names ty'd tail to tail make a sweet change Mine only is Strange-Lee and his Le-strange THE PORING DOCTOR OR The Gross mistake of a Reverend Son of the Church in bowing at the namâ— of Judas at St. Pauls November 5. 1663. THe Papists God wot made a notable Plot Against the Church and the State Which some with good reason Call Gunpowder-Treason Discover'd ere 't was too late Those who before Had weltred in gore Of Protestant Martyrs slain Resolv'd with one breath Of Hell beneath To blow up all by a Train The Bishops good men Were in jeopardy then The Lords the Commons the King Religion and Laws For the Catholick Cause To be made a Burnt Offring Thus swell'd with dispight To raise darkness and night Heav'n caused the brood to miscarry That day big with Thunder Held forth Mercies wonder And therefore kept Anniversary You the present Lord Mayor And Brethren repair With the several Corporations To Pauls Church to pray And solemnize the Day That so seasonably saved three Nations But good Doctor When he came before ye The Sacred Gospel to read At Judas his name O horrible shame He bowed his Reverend head Some say that his fight Poor man is not right I wish that it be no worse But others think he To Judas bow'd th' knee For love he bears to the Purse His Worship made doubt Where the battel was fought When Michael did prevail But to me it is clear For an hundred a year He 'l bow to the Dragons Tail Twelve Spiritual Promotions A head full of Notions With stomach more sharp than a Sythe Some of Bishopsgate there Perhaps did appear Whose