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.

SECT. II. Containing POEMS which re∣late to STATE-AFFAIRS. (Book 2)

Vpon The King's Return from Scotland.

REturn'd; I'l ne'r believ't; first prove him hence, Kings travel by their Beams and Influence. Who says the Soul gives out her Gests, or goes A flitting Progress 'twixt the Head and Toes? She rules by Omnipresence; and shall we Deny a Prince the same Ubiquity? Or grant he went, and 'cause the knot was slack Girt both the Nations with his Zodiack; Yet as the Tree at once both upward shoots, And just as much grows downward to the Roots; So at the same time that he posted thither By Counter-Stages he rebounded hither. Hither, and hence at once; thus every Sphere Doth by a double motion interfere,

And when his Native form inclines him East. By the first Mover he is ravish'd West: Have you not seen how the divided Dam Runs to the summons of her hungry Lamb; But when the Twin cries halves, she quits the first, Nature's Commendum must be likewise nurst? So were his Journeys like the Spider spun Out of his Bowels of Compassion. Two Realms, like Cacus, so his steps transpose, His feet still contradict him as he goes. England's return'd, that was a banish'd Soil, The Bullet flying makes the Gun recoil. Death's but a Separation, though indors'd With Spade and Javelin, we were thus divorc'd. Our Soul hath taken wing, while we express The Corps returning to their Principles. But the Crab-Tropick must not now prevail, Islands go back, but when you're under sail: So his Retreat hath rectified that wrong; Backward is forward in the Hebrew Tongue. Now the Church Militant in plenty rests, Nor fears, like th' Amazon, to lose her Breasts. Her means are safe, not squeez'd, until the blood Mix with the Milk, and choak the tender Brood. She that hath been the floating Ark, is that She, that's now seated on Mount Ararat.

Quits Charles; our Souls did guard him Northward thus, Now he the Counterpart comes South to us.

A Dialogue between two Zealots up∣on the &c. in the Oath.

SIr Roger from a zealous piece of Freeze, Rais'd to a Vicaridge of the Children's Threes, Whose yearly Audit may by strict Account To twenty Nobles, and his Vailes amount, Fed on the Common of the female Charity, Until the Scots can bring about their Parity▪ So shotten, that his Soul, like to himself, Walks but in Cuerpo: This same Clergy-Elf Encountring with a Brother of the Cloth, Fell presently to Cudgels with the Oath. The Quarrel was a strange mishapen Monster Et caetera, (God bless us) which may conster The Brand upon the Buttock of the Beast, The Dragon's Tail tied on a Knot; a Nest Of young Apocryphas, the fashion Of a new mental Reservation. Whilst Roger thus divides the Text, the other Winks and expounds, saying, my pious Brother, Hearken with reverence; for the point is nice, I never read on't, but I fasted twice:

And so by Revelation know it better, Than all the learn'd Idolaters oth' Letter, With that he swell'd, and fell upon the Theme, Like Great Goliah, with his Weaver's Beam. I say to thee, Et caetera, thou ly'st, Thou art the curled Lock of Antichrist; Rubbish of Babel; for who will not say Tongues are counfounded in Et caetera? Who swears Et caetera, swears more Oaths at once, Than Cerberus out of his triple Sconce. Who views it well, with the same eye beholds The old false Serpent in his numerous folds. Accurst Et caetera! Now, now I scent What the prodigious bloody Oysters meant. O Booker! Booker! How camest thou to lack This Fiend in thy Prophetick Almanack? It's the dark Vault wherein th' Infernal Plot Of Powder 'gainst the State was first begot. Peruse the Oath, and you shall soon descry it By all the Father Garnets that stand by it; 'Gainst whom the Church (whereof I am a Member) Shall keep another Fifth day of November. Yet here's not all, I cannot half untruss Et caetera, it's so abdominous. The Trojan Nag was not so fully lin'd. Unrip Et caetera, and you shall find

Og the great Commissary, and (which his worse) Th' Apparitor upon his skew bald Horse. Then finally, my Babes of Grace, forbear, Et caetera will be too far to swear: For 'tis (to speak in a familiar Stile) A Yorkshire Wea-bit longer than a Mile. Here Roger was inspir'd, and by God's diggers He'l swear in words at length, but not in Figures. No by this Drink which he takes off, as loath To leave Et catera in his liquid Oath; His Brother pledg'd him, and that bloody Wine He swears shall seal the Synod's Catiline. So they drank on, not offering to part, 'Till they had sworn out the eleventh Quart: While all that saw, and heard them joyntly pray, They and their Tribe were all Et caetera.

Smectymnuus, or the Club-Divines.

SMectymnuus! The Goblin makes me start; Ith' name of Rabbi Abraham, what art? Syriak? or Arabick? or Welsh? what skilt? Ape all the Bricklayers that Babel built. Some Conjurer translate, and let me know it; Till then 'tis fit for a West Saxon Poet.

But do the Brotherhood then play their Prizes, Like Mummers in Religion, with Disguises? Out-brave us with a Name in Rank and File? A name, which if 'twere train'd would spread a mile. The Saints Monopoly, the Zealous Cluster, Which like a Porcupine presents a Muster, And shoots his Quills at Bishops and their Sees, A devout Litter of young Machabees. Thus Iack of all Trades hath distinctly shown The twelve Apostles in a Cherry-stone. Thus Faction's A-la-mode in Treason's fashion, Now we have Heresie by Complication. Like to Don Quixot's Rosary of Slaves Strung on a Chain, a Murnival of Knaves Pack'd in a Trick; like Gipsies when they ride, Or like the College which sit all of a side: So the vain Satyrists stand all a row, As hollow Teeth upon a Lute-string show. Th' Italian Monster pregnant with his Brother, Nature's Diaeresis, half one another; He with his little Sidesmam Lazarus Must both give way unto Smectymnuus. Next Sturbridge Fair is Smec's; for lo his side Into a fivefold Lazar multiplied. Under each Arm there's tuck'd a double Gizzard, Five Faces lurk under one single Vizard.

The Whore of Babylon left these Brats behind, Heirs of Confusion by Gavelkind. I think Pythagoras's Soul is rambled hither With all her change of Rayment on together. Smec is her general Wardrope; she'l not dare To think of him as of a thorough-fare. He stops the Gossiping Dame; alone he is The Purlew of a Metempsychosis: Like a Scotch Mark; where the more modest sence Checks the loud Phrase & shrinks to thirteen pence; Like to an Ignis fatuus, whose flame, Though sometimes tripartite, joyns in the same. Like to nine Taylors, who (if rightly spell'd) Into one Man are Monosyllabl'd. Shorthanded Zeal in one hath cramped many, Like to the Decalogue in a single penny. See, see how close the Curs hunt under a sheet, As if they spent in Quire, and scan'd their feet. One Cure, and five Incumbents leap a Truss, The Title sure must be Litigious. The Sadduces would raise a Question, Who shall be Smec at th' Resurrection. Who coop'd them up together were to blame, Had they but wire drawn and spun out the name, 'Twould make another Prentices Petition Against the Bishops and their Superstition.

Robson and French (that count from five to five, As far as Nature fingers did contrive. She saw they would be Sessers, that's the cause She cleft their Hoof into so many Claws) May tire their Carret-Bunch; yet ne'r agree To rate Smectymnuus for Polemoney. Caligula (whose Pride was Mankind's Bail, As who disdain'd to murder by Retail, Wishing the World had but one general Neck) His glutton Blade might have found Game in Smec. No Eccho can improve the Author more, Whose Lungs pay use and use to half a score. No Felon is more letter'd, though the Brand Both superscribes his Shoulder and his Hand. Some Walshman was his Godfather; for he Wears in his Name his Genealogy. The Banns are ask'd, would but the times give way, Betwixt Smectymnuus and Et caetera: The Guests, invited by a friendly Summons, Should be the Convocation and the Commons; The Priest to tie the Foxes tails together Mosely, or Sancta Cl••ra, choose you whether. See what an Off-spring every one expects; What strange Plurality of Men and Sects? One says he'l get a Vestry, but another Is for a Synod; Bets upon the Mother.

Faith cry St. George! Let them go to't and stickle Whether a Conclave, or a Conventicle. Thus might Religions Catterwaul and spight Which uses to Devorce, might once unite: But their cross Fortunes interdict their Trade, The Groom is Rampant, but the Bride is Spade. My Task is done, all my he Goats are milk'd; So many Cards ith' Stock, and yet be bilk'd? I could by Letters now untwist the Rabble, Whip Smec from Constable to Constable. But there I leave you to another's dressing; Only kneel down and take your Father's Blessing; May the Queen Mother justifie your fears, And stretch her Patent to your Leather ears.

The Hue and Cry after Sir John Presbyter.

WIth Hair in Character, and Lugs in Text, With a splay mouth, & a nose circumflext, With a set Ruff of Musket-bore, that wears Like Cartrages, or Linnen Bandileers Exhausted of their Sulphurous Contents In Pulpit Fire-works, which the Bombal vents; The Negative and Covenanting Oath, Like two Mustachoes issuing from his Mouh.

The Bush upon his Chin like a carv'd Story In a Box-knot, cut by the Directory; Madam's Confession hanging at his ear Wire-drawn through all the Questions, How and Where; Each Circumstance so in the hearing felt, That when his ears are cropp'd he'l count them gelt. The Weeping Cassock scar'd into a Jump, A sign the Presbyter's worn to the stump; The Presbyter, though charm'd against Mischance With the Divine Right of an Ordinance; If you meet any that do thus attire 'em, Stop them they are the Tribe of Adoniram. What zealous Phrenzy did the Senate seize, That tare the Rotchet to such rags as these? Episcopacy minc'd; Reforming Tweed Hath sent us Runts even of her Churches breed▪ Lay interlining Clergy, a Device That's Nickname to the Stuff call'd Lops and Lice. The Beast at wrong end branded, you may trace The Devil's footsteps in his cloven face. A face of several Parishes and sorts, Like to Serjeant shav'd at Inns of Court. What mean the Elders else, those Kirk Dragoons, Made up of Ears and Ruffs like Ducatoons. That Hierarchy of Handicrafts begun; Those New Exchange-men of Religion.

Sure they'r the Antick heads which plac'd without The Church, do gape and disembogue a Spout: Like them above the Commons House t' have been So long without, now both are gotten in. Then what imperious in the Bishop sounds The same the Scotch Executor rebounds: This stating Prelacy the Classick Rout That speak it often, e'r it spake it out. So by an Abbey's Skeleton of late I heard an Eccho supererogate Through Imperfection, and the Voyce restore, As if she had the Hiccop o'r and o'r. Since they our mixt Diocesans combine Thus to ride double in their Discipline, That Paul's shall to the Consistory call A Dean and Chapter out of Weaver's Hall, Each at the Ordinance for to assist With the five Thumbs of his groat changing Fist. Down Dagon-Synod with thy Motley Ware, Whilst we are Champions for the Cowmon Prayer, (That Dove-like Embassy that wings our Sense To Heavens Gate in shape of Innocence) Pray for the Mitred Authors, and defie Those Demicastors of Divinity. For when Sir Iohn with Iack of all Trades joyns, His Finger's thicker than the Prelates Loyns

The Mixt Assembly.

FLea-bitten Synod, an Assembly brew'd Of Clerks and Elders ana, like the rude Chaos of Presbyt'ry, where Lay-men guide With the tame Woolpack Clergy by their side. Who ask'd the Banns '••wixt these discolor'd Mates? A strange Grotesco this; the Church and States, Most divine Tick Tack in a Pye-bald Crew To serve as Table-men of divers hue. She that conceiv'd an Aethiopian Heir By Picture, when the Parents both were fair, At sight of you had born a dapled Son, You chequering her Imagination. Had Iacob's Flock but seen you sit, the Damms Had brought forth speckled and ring-streaked Lambs: Like an Impropriator's Motley Kind, Whose Scarlet Coat is with a Cassock lin'd: Like the Lay-Thief in a Canonick Weed, Sure of his Clergy e'r he did the Deed. Like Royston Crows, who are (as I may say) Fryars of both the Orders, Black and Gray. So mixt they are one knows not whether's thicker A Layre of Burgess, or a Layre of Vicar.

Have they usurp'd what Royal Iudah had, And now must Levi too part stakes with Gad? The Scepter and the Crosier are the Crutches, Which if not trusted in their pious Clutches Will fail the Cripple-State. And wer't not pity That both should serve the Yardwand of the City? That Isaac might go stroke his Beard, and sit Judge of 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and Elegerit. O that they were in Chalk and Charcoal drawn! The Miscellany-Satyr and the Fawn, And all th' Adulteries of twisted Nature But faintly represent this ridling Feature, Whose Members, being not Tallies, they'l not own Their Fellows at the Resurrection. Strange Scarlet Doctors these; they'l pass in Story For sinners half refin'd in Purgatory; Or parboyl'd Lobsters, where there joyntly rules The fading Sables, and the coming Gules. The Flea that Falstaff damn'd thus lewdly shows Tormented in the Flames of Bardolph's Nose; Like him that wore the Dialogue of Clokes, This Shoulde•• Iohn-a-Stiles, that Iohn-a-Nokes. Like Jews and Christians in a Ship together With an old Neck-Verse to distiguish either. Like their intended D••scipline to boot, Or whatsoe'r hath neither Head nor Foot:

Such may these strip'd Stuff-hangings seem to be, Sacrilege match'd with Codpiece Simony. Be sick and dream a little, you may then Phansie these Linsey-Woolsey Vestry-men. Forbear good Pembroke, be not over-daring, Such Company may chance to spoyl thy Swearing; And thy Drum-Major Oaths (of bulk unruly) May dwindle to a feeble, By my truly, He that the Noble Piercie's Blood inherits, Will he strike up a Hot-Spur of the Spirits? He'l fright the Obadiah's out of tune With his uncircumcised Algernoon; A Name so stubborn, 'tis not to be scan'd By him in Gath with the six finger'd Hand; See they obey the Magick of my Words, Presto; they'r gone: and now the House of Lords Looks like the wither'd Face of an old Hag, But with three Teeth like to a triple Gag. A Jig, a Jig, and in this Antick Dance, Fielding and Doxie-Marshal first advance. Twisse blows the Scotch-Pipes, and the loving Brace Puts on the Traces and treads Cinq••e-a-pace. Then Say and Seal must his old ham-strings supple, And he and rumpled Palmer make a Couple. Palmer's a fruitful Girl, if he'l unfold her, The Midwife may find work about her Shoulder.

Kimbolton, that Rebellious Boanerges Must be content to saddle Doctor Burges. If Burges get a Clap, 'tis ne'r the worse, But the fifth time of his Compurgators. Nol Bowls is coy, good sadness cannot dance, But in obedience to the Ordinance. Here Wharton wheels about, till Mumping Lidie Like the full Moon hath made his Lordship giddy. Pym and the Members must their Giblets levy T' encounter Madam Smec, that single Bevy: If they two truck together, 'twill not be A Child-birth, but a Gaol-delivery. Thus every Gibelline hath got his Guelf; But Selden he's a Galliard by himself; And well may be; there's more Divines in him, Than in all this their Iewish Sanhedrim; Whose Canons in the Forge shall then bear date, When Mules their Cosin Germans generate. Thus Moses Law is violated now, The Ox and Ass go yoak'd in the same Plough. Resign thy Coach-box Twisse, Brook's Preacher, he Would sort the Beasts with more Conformity. Water and Earth make but one Globe, a Roundhead Is Clergy-Lay, Party-per-pale compounded.

Rebellis Scotus.

CVrae Deo sumus, ista si cedint Scoto? Variata spleniis Domina Psych•• est suis, Aut Stellionatûs rea. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 Companulae omnes; totus Ucalegon fio; Coriaceae cu•• millies mille hydriae Subur bicanis pensiles Paraeciis Non siut refrigerio. Poeticus furor Cometa non minus, vel ore flammeo Commune despuente fatum Stellulâ, Dirum ominatur. Ecquis è Stoâ suam Iam temperet bilem, patria quando Iue Tam Pymmianâ, id est pediculosâ, perit, Bombimacbidisque fit bolus myrmeciis? Scotos nec ausim nominare, carminum Nisi inter amuleta, nec medit arier Nisi cerebello, quod capillitio rubens (Quale autumo coluberrimum Furiis caput) Quot inde verba, tot venena prompserit. Rhadamantheum fac, gut••ur esset nunc mihi, Sulphurque, patibulumque copiosius Ructans, Magus quam taenias Bombycinas Poteram, ut Agyr••a Circulator, pilulas Vomicas loqui, aut 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 Styga;

The Rebel 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 When angry, like a Comet's flaming Beard. And where's the Stoick can his wrath appease To see his Country sick of Pym's disease; By Scotch Invasion to be made a prey To such Pig-Widgin Myrmidons as they? But that there's Charm in Verse, I would not quote The Name of Scot without an Antidote; Unless my head were red, that I might brew Invention there that might be poyson too. Were I a drowzy Judge, whose dismal Note Disgorgeth Halters, as a Jugler's throat Doth Ribbands? Could I in Sir Empericks tone Speak Pills in phrase and quack destruction,

Aut ut Genevae stentores Perilleis Tartara & equuleos boare Pulpitis, At machinauti par forem nunquam Scoto Cunctis Sclopetis hisce gutturalibus. Vt digna Dii duint, vorem par est prius, Praestigator ut sicas & acinaces.

Huc, huc, Iambe, gressibus faxo tuis, At huc, Iambe morsibus faxo magis, Satyraeque tortrices tot huc adducite Flagella, quot praesens meretur seculum. Scoti Veneficis pares; audax stylum Horum cruore tinge, sic nocent minus; Vt Martyres olim induebant belluis (Quasi sisterent Rogis sacros bypocritas) En hos eodem Schemate, aut retro, Scotos, Extra Scotos, intus Feras, & sine tropo. Fallax Jerna viperae ••ihil foves Scoto Colono? Non ego Britanniam Lupis carentem dixerim, vivo Scoto. Quin Thamesinus Pyrgopolinices Scotus Poterat Leones, Tigrides, Vrsos, Canes Proprii Inquilinos pectoris spectaeulo Monstrasse, pro obolis omnibus quibus sol••t Spectare Monstra Cratis; & Forisimul

Or roar like Marshal that Geneva Bull, Hell and Damnation a Pulpit full. Yet to express a Scot, to play that prize, Not all those Mouth-Granados can suffice. Before a Scot can properly be curst, I must like Hocus, swallow Daggers first.

Come keen Iambicks 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 whet your Pen, Scratch till the blood come, they'l not hurt you then. Now as the Martyrs were enforc'd to take The shapes of Beasts, like Hypocrites at stake I'll bait my Scot so, yet not cheat your eyes; A Scot, within a Beast, is no Disguise. No more let Ireland brag, her harmless Nation Fosters no Venom since that Scot's Plantation: Nor can our feign'd Antiquity obtain; Since they came in, England hath Wolves again. The Scot that kept the Tower might have shown Within the Grate of his own Breast alone, The Leopard and the Panther, and ingross'd What all those wild Collegiats had cost.

Pene ocreatum vulgus. Et patria Feras Scotos, eremum indicat terrae plaga. Vel omnipraesentem negans Deum, nisi Venisset inde Carolus, cohors nisi Crafordiana, miles & Montrosseus, Feritatis eluens notam paganicae, Hanc praesti••isset semivictimam Deo. Nec Scoticus est totus Leopardus, Leo, Habent & Aram, sicut Arcam foederis, Velut Tabellae bifidis pictae plicis Fert Angelos pars haec, & haec Cacodaemonas. Cui somniante Tartarum suasit pavor Sic poenitere, viderat regnum velim Nigrius Scotorum semel, & esset innocens. Regio malignâ quae facit votum prece, Relegetur ad Gyaros breves nunquam Incola! Punisset ubi Cainum Nec exilio Deus, Sed, ut ille trechedipnum, magis domicoenio. Vt Gens vagans recutita, vel Contagium, Aut Beelzebub, si des Vbiquitarium. Hinc erro fit semper Scotus, certos locos, Et hos, & illos quoslibet cilò nauseans. Vt frusta divisi Orbis & Topographicae Mendicitatis offulas, curtas nimis. Ipse Vniversitatis haeres integrae, Et totus in toto, Natio Epidemica.

The honest high-shoes in their termly Fees, First to the Salvage Lawyer, next to these. Nature her self doth Scotchmen Beasts confess, Making their Country such a Wilderness; A Land that brings in question and suspence God's Omnipresence, but that Charles came thence; But that Montross and Crawford's Loyal Band Atton'd their Sin, and Christned half their 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 Shews Fiend on this side, and on that side Saint. He that saw Hell in's melancholy Dream, And in the Twy-light of his Phancie's Theme Scar'd from his Sins, repented in a fright, Had he view'd Scotland had turn'd Proselite. A Land where one may pray with curst intent, O may they never suffer Banishment! Had Cain been Scot, God would have chang'd his Doom, Not forc'd him wander but confin'd him home; Like Iews they spread, and as Infection fly, As if the Devil had Ubiquity. Hence 'tis they live at Rovers and defie This, or that place, Rags of Geography. They'r Citizens oth' World, they'r all in all, Scotland's a Nation Epidemical;

Nec gliscet ergo jargonare Gallicè, Exoticis aut Indicis m••dis, neque Iberio nutu negare, nec studet Callere quem de Belgicis Hoghen Moghen Venter tumens, aut barba Canthari r••fert (Quae coriatis una mens Nostratibus) Pugna est in animo, atque in patinâ Scoto; Huic Struthioni suggeret cybum Chalybs Et denti-ductor appetitus baltheo, Pro more pendulos molares inserit. At interim nostras quid involant dapes? Serpens Edenum, non Edenburgum appetit, Aut Angliae, cuijam malum est Haemorrhois, Haematopotas bos posteris meatibus Natura medica supposuit hirudines, Cruore satiendas licet nostro prius, Nostro, sed & cruore moribundas quoque. Nec computo credant priori, nos item Novum addituros, servitutem p••istinae Aliam, gemellam nuperae, fraterculos Palpare, quando coeperant (charos nimis) Suffragiorum scilicet Poppysmata, Et crustulam impertire, velut offam Cerbero Subblandiens decreverat Senatulus. Nos aera loculis? arma visceribus prius Indemus, usque & usque, vel capulo tenus.

And yet they ramble not to learn the Mode, How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad; To return 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 Mariners are steer'd) No, the Scots Errant fight, and fight to eat, Their Ostrich Stomachs make their Swords their Meat. Nature with Scots as Tooth-drawers hath dealt, Who use to string their Teeth upon their Belt. Yet wonder not at this their happy choice, The Serpent's fatal still to Paradise. Sure England hath the Hemorrhoids, and these On the North-postern of the Patient seize, Like Leeches; thus they Physically thirst After our blood, but in the Cure shall burst.

Let them not think to make us run oth' score To purchase Villenage, as once before When an Act past to stroak them on the Head; Call them good Subjects, buy them Ginger-bread.

Not Gold, nor Acts of Grace, 'tis Steel must tame The stubborn Scot, a Prince that would reclaim

Seri videmus quo Scotum tractes modo. Princeps Rebelli mitior tergo, quasi Sellas equino detrahens, aptat suo. At jus rapinas has defendit vetus? Egyptus ista perdit, aufert Israel An Bibliorum nescis hos Satellites Praetorianis queis Cohortibus (novae Hierusalem triariis) Spes nititur Sororcularum? Cardo, Cardo vertitur Cupediarum, primitiva Legis? O bone Deus! quanti est carere linteis! Orexis ut Borealis & fames movet! Victuque, Vestibusque cassi, hinc Knoxio Sutore simul & Knoxio utuntur Coquo, Piè quod algeant, quod esuriant piè. Larvas quin usque detrahas, & nummulis Titulisque, ut animabus, subest fallacia. Librae & Barones (detumescant interim Vocabulorum tympana) quanti valent! Hic Cantianum pene, pene villicum, Solidosque totos illa, sed gratis, duos. Apage superbae frauduléntiae simul Prosapia pictos, fide & pictos, procul: Opprobrium Poetico vel stigmati, Etiam Cruci Crux; non aliter Hyperbolus Hyperscelestus Ostracismo fit pudo••.

Rebels by yielding, doth like him, or worse, Who sadled his own back to shame his Horse.

Was it for this you left your leaner Soil, Thus to lard Israel with Egypt's Spoyl. They are the Gospel's Life-guard; but for them (The Garrison of New Ierusalem) What would the Brethren do? The Cause! The Cause! Sack-Possets, and the Fundamental Laws?

Lord! what a godly thing is want of Shirts! How a Scotch Stomach and no Meat converts! They wanted Food and Rayment; so they took Religion for their Seamstress, and their Cook. Unmask them well, their Honours and Estate, As well as Conscience, are sophisticate. Shrive but their Title and their Moneys poize, A Laird and twenty pence pronounc'd with noise, When constru'd but for a plain Yeoman go, And a good sober two pence, and well so. Hence then you proud Impostors, get you gone, You Picts in Gentry and Devotion. You Scandal to the Stock of Verse, a Race Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace. Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce The Ostracism, and sham'd it out of use.

Americanus ille qui coelum horruit, Quod Hispanorum repat eò sed pars quota! Viderat in Orco si Scotos (hui tot Scotos!) Roterodamus pependerat medioximus. Sat Musa! semissa fercularia Medullitus vorans, Diabolis invides Propriam sibi suam Scoti, paropsideus Vt Berniclis enim Scoti; sic Lucifer Saturatur ipsis Berniclatioribus. Nam lapsus a furcà Scotus, mox & styge Tinctus, suum novatur in Plant-Anserem.

The Indian that Heaven did forswear, Because he heard some Spaniards were there; Had he but known what Scots in Hell had been, He would Erasmus-like have hung between. My Muse hath done. A Voyder for the nonce, I wrong the Devil should I pick their 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 Styx, and turns a Soland Goose.

The King's Disguise.

ANd why so coffin'd in this vile Disguise, That who but sees blasphemes thee with his eys? My Twins of Light within their Penthouse shrink, And hold it their Allegiance to wink. O for a State-Distinction to Arraign Charles of High-Treason 'gainst my Soveraign! What an Usurper to his Prince is wont, Cloyster and shave him, he himself hath don't. His muffled Feature speaks him a Recluse, His Ruins prove him a Religious House. The Sun hath mew'd his Beams from off his Lamp, And Majesty defac'd the Royal Stamp. Is't not enough thy Dignitie's in thrall, But thou'lt transcribe it in thy shape and all? As if thy Blacks were of too faint a die Without the Tincture of Tautology. Flay an Egyptian for his Cassock-skin Spun of his Countrie's darkness, lin't within With Presbyterian badge, that drowzy Trance The Synod's sable, foggy Ignorance. Nor bodily, nor ghostly Negro could Rough cast thy Figure in a sadder mold.

This Privy-Chamber of thy Garb would be But the Close-Mourner to thy Royalty. Then break the Circle of thy Taylor's Spell. A Pearl within a rugged Oyster's Shell. Heaven, which the Minster of thy Person owns, Will fine thee for Dilapidations. Like to a martyr'd Abbey's courser doom, Devoutly alter'd to a Pigeon-room; Or like a College by the Changeling Rabble, Manchester's Elves, transform'd into a Stable. Or if there be a Prophanation higher, Such is the Sacrilege of thine Attire; By which th' art half depos'd, thou look'st like one Whose Looks are under Sequestration: Whose Renegado-form at the first glance, Shews like the Self-denying Ordinance. Angel of Light and Darkness too (I doubt) Inspir'd within, and yet possess'd without: Majestick Twy-light in the state of Grace, Yet with an Excommunicated Face. Charles and his Mask are of a different Mint, A Psalm of Mercy in a miscreant print. The Sun wears Midnight; Day is beetle-brow'd, And Lightning is in Kelder of a Cloud. O the accurst Stenography of State! The Princely Eagle shrunk into a Bat.

What Charm; what Magick vapour can it be That checks his Rayes to this Apostasie? It is no subtil fi••m of Tiffany-air, No Cobweb-Vizard (such as Ladies wear; When they are vail'd on purpose to be seen, Doubling their Lustre by their vanquish'd skreen.) No, the false Scabberd of a Prince is tough, And three pil'd darkness, like the smoaky slough Of an imprison'd flame; 'tis Faux in grain, Dark Lanthorn to, our bright Meridian: Hell belch'd the Damp, the Warwick Castle Vote Rang Britain's Curfeu, so our Light went out. A black Offender should he wear his Sin For Penance, could not have a darker Skin. His Visage is not legible; the Letters Like a Lord's Name writ in Phantastick Fetters. Clothes where a Switzer might be buried quick; Sure they would fit the Body Politick. False Beard enough to thatch a Poet's Plot (For that's the Ambush of their Wit, God wot) Nay all his Properties so strange appear, Y' are not ith' Presence, though the King be there. A Libel is his Dress, a Garb uncouth, Such as the Hue and Cry once purg'd at Mouth. Scribling Assassinate! Thy Lines attest An ear-mark due▪ Cub of the Blatant Beast:

Whose Breath before 'tis syllabled for worse Is Blasphemy unfledg'd, a callow Curse: The Laplanders when they would sell a wind Wafting to Hell, bag up thy Phrase and bind It to the Barque, which at the Voyage end Shifts Poop, and breeds the Collick in the Fiend. But I'l not dub thee with a glorious Scar, Nor sink thy Sculler with a Man of War. The black-mouth'd Siquis, and this slandering suit Both do alike in Picture execute. But since w'are all call'd Papists; why not date Devotion to the Rags thus Consecrate? As Temples use to have their Porches wrought With Sphynxes, Creatures of an Antique draught, And purling Portraitures, to shew that there Riddles inhabited; the like is here. But pardon Sir, since I presume to be Clerk of this Closet to your Majesty; Methinks in this your dark mysterious Dress, I see the Gospel couch'd in Parables. The second view my purblind phancy wipes, And shews Religion in its dusky Types, Such a Text Ro••••l, so obscure a shade, Was Salomon in Proverbs all array'd. Come all the Brats of this Expounding Age To whom the Spiri••••s in Pupilage:

You that damn more than ever Sampson slew, And with his Engine the same Jaw-bone too. How is't he scapes your Inquisition free; Since bound up in the Bible's Livery? Hence Cabinet-Intruders, Pick-Locks hence, You that dim Jewels with your Bristol-sence, And Characters, like Witches, so torment, Till they confess a Guilt, though Innocent. Keys for this Cipher you can never get, None but Saint Peter's ope this Cabinet; This Cabinet, whose Aspect would benight Critick Spectators with redundant light. A Prince most seen is least. What Scriptures call The Revelation, is most mystical. Mount then thou Shadow Royal, and with haste Advance thy Morning-Star, Charles overcast. May thy strange Journey contradictions twist, And sorce fair Weather from a Scottish mist. Heavens Confessors are pos'd; those Star-ey'd Sages T'interpret an Eclipse thus riding Stages. Thus Israel-like he travels with a Cloud, Both as a Conduct to him and a Shroud. But O! He goes to Gibeon, and renews A League with mouldy bread and clouted shoes.

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.

Upon Sir Thomas Martin who sub∣scribed a Warrant thus, We the Knights and Gentlemen of the Committee, when there was no Knight but himself.

HAng out a Flag and gather pence a piece. Which Africk never bred, nor swelling Greece With Stories Tympany; a Beast so rare, No Lecturer's wrought Cap, or Barthol'mew Fair Can match him, Nature's Whimsey that outvies Tredescant and his Ark of Novelties; The Gog and Magog of Prodigious Sights; With reverence to your eyes, Sir Thomas Knights. But is this Bigamy of Titles due? Are you Sir Thomas and Sir Martin too? Issachar couchant'twixt a brace of Sirs, Thou Knighthood in a pair of Panniers. Thou that look'st wrap'd up in thy warlike-leather▪ Like Valentine and Orson bound together.

Spur's Representative, thou that art able To be a Voyder to King Arthur's Table; Who in this Sacrilegious Mass of all, It seems, has swallow'd Winsor's Hospital. Pair Royal, headed Cerberus his Cosin; Hercules Labors were a Baker's dozen, Had he but trump'd on thee, whose forked neck Might well have answer'd at the Font for Smec. But can a Knighthood on a Knighthood ly? Metal on Metal is false Heraldry. And yet the known Godfry of Bouloign's Coat Shines in Exception to the Herald's Vote. Great Spirits move not by Pedantick Laws, Their Actions, though Eccentrick, state the Cause. And Priscian bleeds with honour. Caesar thus Subscrib'd two Consuls with one Iulius. Tom never oaded-Squire, scarce Yeoman high, Is Tom twice dipp'd; Knight of a double die? Fond man, whose Fate is in his Name betray'd, It is the setting Sun doubles his shade: But it's no matter; for amphibious he May have a Knight hang'd, yet Sir Tom go free.

The General Eclipse.

LAdies that guild the glittering Noon, And by Reflection mend his Ray, Whose Beauty makes the sprightly Sun To dance, as upon Easter-day; What are you now the Queen's away?

Courageous Eagles, who have whet Your Eyes upon Majestick Light, And thence deriv'd such Martial heat, That still your Looks maintain the Fight; What are you since the King's Goodnight?

Cavalier-buds, whom Nature teems, As a Reserve for England's Throne, Spirits whose double edge redeems The last Age, and adorns your own; What are you now the Prince is gone?

As an obstructed Fountain's head Cuts the Intail off from the Streams, And Brooks are disinherited; Honour and Beauty are mere Dreams, Since Charles and Mary lost their Beams.

Criminal Valors! who commit Your Gallantry, whose Poean brings A Psalm of Mercy after it; In this sad Solstice of the King's, Your Victory hath mew'd her wings.

See how your Souldier wears his Cage Of Iron, like the Captive Turk, And as the Guerdon of his Rage! See how your glimmering Peers do lurk, Or at the best work Journey-work!

Thus 'tis a General Eclipse, And the whole World is al-a-mor••; Only the House of Commons trips The Stage in a Triumphant sort, Now e'n Iohn Lilburn take 'em for't.