Clievelandi Vindiciæ, or, Clieveland's genuine poems, orations, epistles, &c. purged from the many false and spurious ones which had usurped his name, and from innumerable errours and corruptions in the true copies : to which are added many never printed before, with an account of the author's life.

Rupertismus.

O That I could but vote myself a Poet, Or had the Legislative knack to do it! Or like the Doctors Militant could get Dubb'd at adventure Verser Banneret. Or had I Cacus trick to make my Rhymes Their own Antipodes, and track the times, Faces about sayes the Remonstrant Spirit, Allegiance is Malignant, Treason Merit. Huntington-Colt that pos'd the Sage Recorder Might be a Sturgeon now and pass by Order. Had I but Elsing's Gift (that splay-mouth'd Brother) That declares one way, and yet means another: Could I thus write asquint, then Sir long since You had been sung a Great and Glorious Prince. I had observ'd the Language of these dayes, Blasphem'd you, and then periwig'd the Phrase With humble service, and such other Fustian, Bells which ring backward in this great Combusti∣on I had revil'd you, and without offence The Literal and th' Equitable sence Would make it good. When all fails this will do't, Sure that Distinction cle••t the Devil's foot.

This were my Dialect, would your Highness please To read me but with Hebrew Spectacles; Interpret counter what is cross rehears'd; Libels are Commendations when revers'd. Just as an Optique Glass contracts the Sight At one end, but when turn'd doth multiply't. But you're inchanted, Sir you're doubly free From the great Guns and Squibbing Poetry; Whom neither Bilbo, nor Invention pierces, Proof, even 'gainst th' Artillery of Verses, Strange! That the Muses cannot wound your Mail, If not their Art, yet let their Sex prevail. At that known Leaguer where the Bonny Besses Suppli'd the Bow-strings with their twisted Tresses, Your Spels could ne'r have fenc'd you, ev'ry Arrow Had lanc'd your noble Breast & drunk the Marrow: For Beauty, like white Powder, makes no noise, And yet the silent Hypocrite destroys. Then use the Nuns of Helicon with pity, Lest Wharton tell his Gossips of the City, That you kill Women too, nay Maids, and such Their General wants Militia to touch; Impotent Essex! Is it not a shame Our Commonwealth, like to a Turkish Dame, Should have an Eunuch Guardian? May she be Ravish'd by Charles, rather than sav'd by thee.

But why, my Muse, like a Green-sickness Girl, Feed'st thou on Coals and Dirt? A Gelding Earl Gives no more relish to thy Female palate Then to the Ass did once the Thistle-Salat. Then quit his barren Theme, and all at once Thou and thy Sisters, like bright Amazons, Give Rupert an Alarum. Rupert! one Whose name is Wit's Superfoetation; Makes Phancy, like Eternitie's round womb, Unite all Valour past, present, to come. He, who the old Philosophy controuls, That voted down Plurality of Souls. He breaths a Grand Committee; all that were The Wonders of their Age constellate here. And as the Elder Sisters Growth and Sense (Souls paramount themselves) in Man commence But faculties of Reason Queen; no more Are they to him, who was complete before, Ingredients of his Virtues. Thread the Beads Of Caesar's Acts, Great Pompey's and the Swedes, And 'tis a Bracelet fit for Rupert's hand, By which that vast triumvirat is span'd. Here, here is Palmestry; here you may read How long the World shall live, and when't shall bleed. What every Man winds up that Rupert hath; For Nature rais'd him on the Publick Faith.

Pandora's Brother, to make up whose store The Gods were fain to run upon the score. Such was the Painter's Brief for Venus Face, Item an Eye from Iane, a Lip from Grace. Let Isaac and his Cit•• ••lay off the Plate. That tips their Antlets, for their Calf of State. Let the Zeal-twanging Nose that wants a Ridge, Snuffling devoutly, drop his silver Bridge; Yes and the Gossip's Spoon augment the Sum, Although poor Caleb lose his Christendom. Rupert outweighs that in his Sterling self, Which their Self-want pays in Committee-pelf. Pardon, Great Sir; for that ignoble Crew Gains when made Bankrupt in the Scales with you. As he who in his Character of Light Styl'd it God's shadow, made it far more bright By an Eclipse so glorious (Light is dim, And a black Nothing when compar'd with him) So 'tis Illustrious to be Rupert's foil, And a just Trophee to be made his spoil. I'll pin my Faith on the Diurnal's sleeve Hereafter, and the Guild-Hall Creed believe. The Conquests which the Common-Council hears With their wide listning Mouth from the Great Peers That run away in Triumph; such a Foe Can make Men Victors in their Overthrow.

Where Providence and Valour meet in one, Courage so poiz'd with Circumspection, That he revives the Quarrel once again Of the Soul's Throne; whether in Heart, or Brain, And leaves it a drawn Match; whose fervor can Hatch him, whom Nature poach'd but half a man. His Trumpet, like the Angels at the last, Makes the Soul rise by a miraculous blast. Was that Mount Athos carv'd in shape of Man, As was design'd by th' Macedonian, Whose right hand should a populous Land contain, The left should be a Channel to the Main; His Spirit would inform th' Amphibious Figure, And straight laced sweat for a Dominion bigger. The terror of whose Name can out of seven, Like Falstaf's Buckram-men, make fly eleven. Thus some grow rich by breaking; Vipers thus By being slain are made more numerous. No wonder they'l confess no loss of men; For Rupert knocks 'em till they gig again. They fear the Giblets of his Train, they fear, Even his Dog, that four-leg'd Cavalier. He that devours the Scraps that Lunsford makes, Whose Picture feeds upon a Child in stakes; Who name but Charles he comes aloft for him; ••ut holds up his Malignant Leg at Pym:

'Gainst whom they have these Articles in Souse, First, that he barks against the Sense o'th' House; Resolv'd Delinquent; to the Tower straight; Either to th' Lyons, or the Bishop's Grate. Next for his ceremonious wag o'th' Tail; But there the Sisterhood will be his Bail; At least the Countess with Lust's Amsterdam, That lets in all Religions of the Game. Thirdly; he smells Intelligence; that's better And cheaper too, than Pym's from his own Letter, Who's doubly paid (Fortune or we the blinder!) For making Plots, and then for Fox the finder. Lastly; he is a Devil without doubt; For when he would lie down he wheels about; Makes Circles and is couchant in a Ring, And therefore score up one for conjuring. What canst thou say, thou Wretch? O quarter! quarter! I'm but an Instrument, a mere Sir Arthur: If I must hang, O let not our Fates vary, Whose Office 'tis alike to fetch and carry! No hopes of a Reprieve; the mutinous stir, That strung the Jesuit will dispatch the Cur. Were I a Devil, as the Rabble fears, I see the House would try me by my Peers. There Iowler there! ah Iowler! 'st, 'tis nought, What e'r the Accusers cry, they'r at default,

And Glyn and Maynard have no more to say, Then when the glorious Strafford stood at bay. Thus Libels but amount to him we see T' enjoy a Copyhold of Victory. Saint Peter's shadow heal'd, Rupert's is such 'Twould find Saint Peter work, and wound as much▪ He gags their Guns, defeats their dire intent, The Cannons do but lisp and complement. Sure Iove descended in a leaden shower To get this Perseus; hence the fatal power Of Shot is strangled; Bullets thus allied Fear to commit an Act of Paricide. Go on brave Prince, and make the World confess, Thou art the greater World, and that the less. Scatter th' accumulative King; untruss That five-fold Fiend the State's Smectymm••••, Who place Religion in their Vellam-ears, As in their Phylacters the Iews did theirs. England's a Paradise, and a modest word, Since guarded by a Cherub's flaming Sword. Your Name can scare an Atheist to his prayers, And cure the Chin-cough better than the Bears. Old Sibils Charm Toothach with you, the Nurse Makes you still Children, and the pond'rous Curse The Clown salutes with is deriv'd from you, Now Rupert take thee Rogue, how dost thou do?

In fine the Name of Rupert thunders so, Kimbolton's but a rumbling Wheelbarrow.