The character of a London-diurnall with severall select poems / by the same author.

The Rebell Scot.

HOw! Providence! and yet a Scottish crew! Then Madam nature wears black patches too. What? shall our Nation be in bondage thus Unto a Land that truckles under us? Ring the bells backward; I am all on fire, Not all the buckets in a Country Quire Shall quench my rage. A Poet should be fear'd Whe•• angry, like a Comets flaming beard. And where's the Stoick? can his wrath appease To see his Countrey sick of Pym's disease By Scotch invasion? to be made a prey To such Pig-wiggin Mirmidons as they?

But that there's cha••me in verse, I will not quote The name of Scot, without an Antidote; Unlesse my head were red, that I might brew Invention there that might be poyson too. Were I a drowsie Judge whose dismall Note Disg••••geth halters, as a Juglers throat D••th ribbands: could I (in Sir Emp'ricks tone) Speake Pills in phrase, and quack destruction: Or roare like Marshall, that Gen••vah-Bull, Hell and damnation a Pulpit full: Yet to expresse a Scot, to play that prize, Not all those mouth-Grandoes can suffice. Before a Scot can properly be curst, I must (like Hocus) swallow daggers first. Come keen lambicks, with your Badgers feet, And Badger-like, bite till your teeth do meet. Help ye tart Satyrists, to imp my rage, With all the Scorpions that should whip this age. Scots are like Witches; do but whe•• your pen, Scratch til the blood come; they'l not hurt you then. Now as the Martyrs were inforc'd to take The shapes of beasts, like hypocrites, at stake, I'le bait my Scot so; yet not cheat your eyes, A Scot within a beast is no disguise. No more let Ireland brag, her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Nation Fosters no Venome, since the Scots Plantation: Nor can ours feign'd Antiquity maintaine; Since they came in, England hath Wolves againe. The Scot that kept the Tower might have showne (Within the gra••e of his 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••rest alone) The 〈…〉〈…〉 Panther; and ingrost What all those wild Collegiats had cost

The honest High-shoes, in their Termly Fees, First to the salvage Lawyer, next to these. Nature her selfe doth Scotch-men beasts confesse, Making their Countrey such a wildernesse: A Land, that brings in question and suspense Gods omnipresence, but that CHARLS came thence. But that Montrosse and Crawfords loyall Band Atton'd their sins, and christ'ned halfe the Land: Nor is it all the Nation hath these spots; There is a Church, as well as Kirk of Scots: As in a picture, where the squinting paint Shewes Fiend on this side, and on that side Saint. He that saw hell in's melancholie dreame, And in the twilight of his Fanc••e's theame, Scar••d from his sins, repented in a fright, Had he view'd ••cotland, had ••urn'd Proselite. A Land, where one may pray with curst intent, O may they never suffer banishment! Had Cain beene Scot, God would have chang'd his doome, Not forc'd him wander, but confin'd him home. Like Jewes they spread, and as Infection flie, As if the Devill had Ubiquitie. Hence 'tis, they live at Rovers; and defie This or that place, Rags of Geographie. They're Citizens o'th World; they're all in all, Scotland's a Nation Epidemicall. And yet they ramble not, to learne the Mode How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad, To returne knowing in the Spanish shrug, Or which of the Dutch States a double Jug Resembles most, in Belly, or in Beard: The Card by which the Travellers are steard.

No; the Scots-Errant fight, and fight to eat; their Estrich stomacks make their swords their meat. Nature with Scots as Tooth-drawers hath dealt, Who use to hang their teeth upon their Belt. Yet wonder not at this their happy choice; The Serpent's fatall still to Paradise. Sure England hath the Hemerods, and these On the North Posterne of the patient seize, Like Leeches: thus they physically thirst After our blood, but in the cure shall burst. Let them not thinke to make us run o'th score, To purchase Villanage, as once before, When an Act past, to stroake them on the head, Call them good Subjects, buy them Ginger-bread. Nor gold, nor Acts of Grace; 'tis steel must tame The stubborne Scot: A Prince that would reclaime Rebells by yeelding, doth like him, (or worse) Who sadled his owne back to shame his horse. Was it for this you left your leaner soyle, Thus to lard Israel with Aegypts spoyle? They are the Gospells Life-guard; but for them, The Garrison of new Jerusalem, What would the Brethren do? the Cause the cause! Sack possets, and the Fundamentall Lawes! Lord! what a godly thing is want of shirts! How a Scotch-stamack, and no meat, converts! They wanted food, and raiment; so they took Religion for their Seamstresse, and their Cook. Unmaske them well; their honors and estate, As well as conscience, are sophisticate. Shrive but their Titles, and their money poize, A Laird and Twenty pence pronounc'd with noise,

When const••ued, but for a plaine Yeoman goe, And a good sober twopence; and well so. Hence then you proud Impostors, get you gone; You Picts in Gentry and Devotion: You scandalls to the stock of Verse! a race! Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace! Hyp••••••olus by suffering did traduce The Ostracisme, and sham'd it out of use. ••he Indian that Heaven did forsweare, Because he heard the Spaniards were there, Had he but knowne what Scots in hell had been, He would Erasmus-like have hung betweene. My Muse hath done. A Voider for the nonce! I wrong the Devill, should I pick the bones? That dish is his: for when the Scots decease, Hell, like their Nation, feeds on Barnacles. A Scot, when from the Gallow-Tree got loose, Drops into S••yx, and turns a Solun-Go••se.